


Lilac and Lush

by Aicosu



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Culture, Altean traditions, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Awkward Sexual Situations, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Galra Traditions, Literally every awkward tag there is, Lotura - Freeform, Marriage Proposal, Slow Burn, TONS of Altean and Galra worldbuilding and culture customs, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Worldbuilding, couple pretends to be in love and then falls in love trope, ignoring literally everything post Kral Zera, no really its the slowest fucking burn im so sorry, no thanks season 6, strong Allura, tons - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-05-29 19:13:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 117,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15079826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aicosu/pseuds/Aicosu
Summary: After Lotor becomes Emperor once winning Kral Zera, Allura and the paladins discuss the best way to unionize the alliance. Allura feels a gesture of royal matrimony makes the most sense. For political reasons only, of course.





	1. Lilac and Lush

 “What!? Allura can’t marry Lotor he’s—he’s—Lotor!!”

Succinct. Her brows creased at the somewhat accusatory tone, but she gave Lance a pitying smile anyway.

“I think that’s the point, Lance. He’s Lotor. And he’s Emperor now.” Pidge pointed out.

“It does make sense. Allura is practically the head of the Coalition. An official alliance with Lotor would mean a ceasefire on both sides to ensure she and the new Emperor aren’t threatened.”

“You’re agreeing with this Shiro!?” Lance nearly jumped over the back of his deck chair to get to his captain.

Shiro jolted, glancing at her and then back at Lance. “N-no, I mean, I was only pointing out the strategic benefits of a plan like that.”

“Uh… plan?” Hunk came to stand at Shiro’s side, hand scratching his head. “Getting married isn’t a plan, it’s you know, smooches and hearts.”

“Yeah! Exactly!” Lance cheered. “She doesn’t even know the guy, let alone _love_ him.”

She smiled at the blue paladin again, but it was small and followed by a sigh that had the whole team’s eyes on her. “I appreciate your concern Lance, but I’m a princess. For me, marriage is a duty to perform for my people. Love doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

“What!?”

“It’s true.” Coran mused, a finger curling at his chin and tapping. “I can’t say Lotor is the ideal partner for our Princess but when it comes to politics in nobility, nobody gets married unless it means progress for all. It was the same with Alfor and his wife, and they were devoted to each other in the end.”

“That can’t be right! It’s so old school! There isn’t even an Altea to represent!”

The deck goes oddly silent. Most gazes dance between each other before landing on Coran and Allura as they stand under the crystal, quiet and unresponsive.

Lance flounders, standing from his chair, “I mean—not that, you’re still Altean and still a princess, no doubt! In fact, right, of course— you’re you’re everybody's Princess! Right guys?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course!”

“Definitely!”

Her fingers feel cold as she clasps them before her, but her smile is genuine, as is the soft buzz in her chest. “Thank you. That means… so much to hear.” And it does. It truly does. Though Lance’s once again, succinct, point, is not lost on anyone.

Shiro takes the point to an argument. “Would the Galra respect the marriage though? With factions split already beneath Lotor, and him already being half Altean himself…They might think they were being overthrown.”

“I’m not sure.” She contemplates it, but it’s hard to when all she knows of the Galra has been war. And harder still when what she remembers of them in times of peace is hundreds of centuries ago now. “I suppose it would depend on him. If Lotor can inspire a majority to follow him, and me representing the power of Voltron and the Coalition, the rest would have no choice but to fall into place.”

“They might even see a marriage to you an adoption of Voltron into the Galra Empire itself,” Coran adds.

There’s almost a unison hum as all seven of them think on the idea.

Well, six.

“I can’t believe you’re all really thinking about this!? We don’t even know if the guy is trustworthy!”

“He killed Zarkon, Lance, and he even warned us about the double-cross.” Shiro admonishes.

“And he gave us all that intel, and fought his own people at the… Call Sera.” Pidge tries.

“Kral Zera.” Shiro helps.

“Yep. That.”

“Well, this isn’t what I meant when I asked how we were gonna establish peace.” Lance pushes and looks suddenly aware that he somehow suggested the idea in the first place.

“But it actually makes sense—”

“No, Lance is right.”

Allura surprises everyone and once more she has their entire attention.

“We can’t be presumptuous. Regardless of what benefits such a union would bring, as it stands now Lotor has yet to … propose,” She shifts, the word off in her mouth, especially with the image of the Galra prince being on the other side of it, “to me. Or rather, propose the idea. So for now, we go through with a simple treaty to ensure the Coalition worlds rule under themselves”

That seems to settle the issue. Especially for Lance, who crosses his arm in a slump, but looks a little more at ease.

“Can you pull up the coordinates the Prince gave us, Pidge?”

“Got ‘em in already. We should arrive in a few hours. Uh, vargas. Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

She means to leave the deck at that. They have time before arriving at the center of the Galra fleet and she means to spend the time preparing the exact treaty they had been talking about.

But Coran finds her arm and pulls her from the deck with him out the hall.

“Coran?” She questions, checking behind her to see what exactly it is they're hiding from.

“Princess, I have to warn you.”

“Coran if this is about marrying Lotor while I find the idea logical I highly doubt that—”

“That’s just it!”

He takes a deep breath, and Allura takes the time to mimic him, in the quiet Castle hall.

“Lance was right. There is no Altea.”

Instantly she frowns, and tries to hold her dear confidante's hand, but finds he’s already holding hers.

“And Prince Lotor might be half Altean, but he’s raised Galra, long after our world was destroyed.”

“Even if he was _completely_ Galra, the point would still be the same, I mean, for goodness sake Coran, Grandmother married the Olkari prince—”

“You’re grandmother _asked_ ,” Coran stressed. “If you’re expecting the Altean way of courtship like the one your mother prepared you for you might not find it.”

“Oh… I… still, It’s… This is all just hypothetical.” She was shaking her head, pulling a little from his grasp.

“I’m afraid it may not be. And as a Princess of not just Altea anymore, but anyone in need of one, you may need to cast aside our cultural traditions to propose the idea on your own.”

Her stomach felt empty, and the image of Lotor with his hand extended morphed into a mirror image of herself. She tried to laugh. It sounded weird.

“Of course, I would never push you to do something you didn’t want, Princess. Lotor is still the son of Zarkon and it’s going to be a hard thing for either of us to forget.”

“Right.”

“But I only wanted to remind you that Altean novelties are just that. Novelties. We can’t just wait for his spriggan stone on your pillow.”

“Ah! Oh— no— you’re right. I’ll… keep it in mind.”

She would.

 

* * *

 

 

She did.

Too much, maybe.

“Would that be acceptable, Princess?”

“What? Oh, the outpost— of course.”

Lotor’s gaze leaves her once more, his hand rising to point out the Celtak system on the holo map they’re looking at.

He’s almost a head and a half taller than her. This close, she can measure the top of her shoulder to the middle of his chest. And it could be the Galra in him that makes him that way, but she thinks that had he been full Altean, he would be tall anyway.

“If we set up forces there, the purebreds and their rabble might be less inclined to reach north.”

It’s his stature though. Not just the technical number of his height, but the way he holds his back straight. The way his chin raises high. It opens his lungs and allows his voice to hold that bold, lofty quality. A sound with such deep reverberation it almost sounds amplified. It’s a tone she recognizes from her father’s way of speaking. The way she tried to emulate at times.

“If you’d like, we can arrange both Coalition and Galra forces. Not only so the Coalition might feel on equal grounds, but so my people get used to the sight of such collaboration as well.”

He’s a Prince, all in all. In his manner, in his words (even now he says coalition instead of rebellion, a level of consideration she doesn’t expect). Even as an exile Prince (or despite it) he’s very much the type of man she’d have been expected to deal with before the war had started. A diplomat. Someone she could relate to on a level maybe even Coran or the paladins couldn’t match. Someone who would understand the weight of what being a representative of a people meant.

“Princess Allura.”

Besides that, he was half Altean, wasn’t he? She could see it in the set of his nose, the high peaks of his jaw and cheeks. His hair too, was more like hers than it was, well, furry, or in tufts like most Galra men and women were.

“Princess,”

If she was being bolder, she would perhaps even admit, his, well, obvious attractiveness. Not to say _she_ was attracted to him. Just that he _was_ attractive. Or groomed. Or striking. Whatever word one wanted to use, it was at least undeniable that he very much looked… _good_. For a Galra. Especially when one could get a good view of his eyes like this. Or at least at this close range when he was looking at her.

Looking at her.

Oh, had he said something?

“Yes.” She said.

The space between them felt tense.

That probably wasn’t the appropriate response at all, if his quiet expression said anything.

“Forgive me Prince Lotor, I was, I— you were talking about the outpost.”

“Is something on your mind Your Highness?”

“No, not at all, no, please continue.”

His eyes closed briefly before he waved his console off and the map disappeared.

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t meant to ignore—”

His hand rose and he flashed her a smile that appeared sinister until she reminded herself that he could not help the sharpness of his teeth.

“No, please, it is my fault to pull you so quickly back to the field of war when we are both still reeling from the last battle.”

It would be infuriating how polite he was if she wasn’t also extremely grateful.

“You don’t have to be so considerate. This is important to your rule. I know you are concerned with establishing yourself after the Kral Zera. You’ve must have waited some time to get to this point.”

“And yet it can continue to wait. At least a quintent or two more.” He smiles, this time softly, the hair on his shoulder moving past his ear as he steps around her and extends his arm. “Please, allow me to have someone send for refreshments.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I would see to it that I actually _host_ my Altean Princess.” He insisted, adding a low head bow to his open arm.

The etiquette embedded into her upbringing demanded she takes the offer and so she made her way to the small table on the far side of the room.

 _‘My Altean Princess,_ ’ he had said. As both an Emperor regarding his special guest, and a half Altean acknowledging his ruler. She felt hot in her dress.

He had been nothing but respectful to her since meeting. Even in the face of her own prejudice behind the cage they had kept him in at the Castle of Lions, or in the frustration at not being trusted up until the end. He never forgot the details; the bows, the honorifics, the simple idea of only looking away from her as she did. A sign of court training. He even deferred his status of Prince to her status as Princess, waiting to sit down until she left the room or entered it. Something he did not at all have to do. (Especially now, as Emperor.)

But it said… something to her. The formality to anybody else might seem cold. To Lance or, to the other paladins, it surely would.

But to her, it’s almost familiar. Nostalgic. A comfort. It’s easy to talk with someone when they're talking your native language, so to speak. And he did so in strides.

He didn’t sit until she did, but when he did it didn't make much of difference for height. He called for service from a panel on the table. And she admired the dexterous ways his claws avoided scraping the surface.

“Have you had time to take a breath since the start of it all, Princess?”

She sighed, closing her eyes. “Every now and then we get to, but you must know how it is yourself. Even in the moments, you take a break you are actively waiting for an interruption.”

“Yes.”

“And you? Do you have no relief even now?”

He’s quiet. Maybe it’s the wrong question to ask. Even though much has happened, it wasn’t actually that long ago that he struck down his own father. And even though Zarkon had been… well, Zarkon, he was still Lotor’s father.

“Much of my time was spent being neither seen nor heard if my father could help it.” He says it with the same lofty quality he always does, but he’s not looking at her this time. He’s looking at his hands. “Since his battle for Voltron and my appointed title of Po Tem, everything seemed to happen so quickly. Opportunities to finally change things the way I always wanted presented themselves in such abundance and succession I thought they might slip away if I did not leap for them immediately.”

She watches his hand open in close in a slow realization and is so enraptured by the articulation of his Galra claws that she's surprised by the contrast of a sudden soft smile at her.

“In a way, I think I might still be waiting for the next opportunity and the speed I will have to use to run to it.”

“I see.” She says.

And she does.

 

* * *

 

 

The more they talk about it, the more it simply makes sense.

Rather, the more they talk about the treaty, the more a marriage makes sense.

It’s almost disturbing how easily it would fix a lot of the incoming issues for them.

Most of the political climate is uneasy. Trust between the Coalitions and the Galra is fragile at best, with both waiting for the other to open fire. Already they had reports coming in from distant planets in their territories breaking out in fights because they had thought fighting inevitable.

Allura wonders if it would still seem that way if the heads of each faction tie their lives together in an ‘endless’ treaty. Not just a paper one that can be thrown away, as Zarkon had done with most of the galaxy. 

The purebreds in the Galra Empire argue that Lotor is not strong enough to sit on the throne. That his half-breed blood means he is weak. And despite Voltrons presence behind him, they accuse that Voltron is not truly ‘his’ to command.

Again, would they say that if he married the only one who could claim Voltron as property? Would they when in marriage, what is mine is yours?

And finally, most of the Coalition feared for their safety. They mistrusted Lotor, either because he was simply Galra because he was Zarkon’s son, or simply because they had never witnessed his aide and his welcoming nature in person.

If they saw Allura put her literal life in his hands, with something so intimate, would they not at least trust her enough to settle their doubtful ways?

But she was starting to think Coran was right.

She and Lotor had spent the better part of a dalcycle in and out of meetings on his capital ship. Usually, they were accompanied by the paladins and incoming visits from Coalition representatives. But the treaty itself hadn’t been signed. Not yet. It had a lot of work to go through. Details to iron out (trade, taxes, territories, the best part of being a ruler, her father would joke.) And almost all those details had been put on hold with arguments from both sides.

Not from Lotor or Allura themselves, but those the represented.

Lotor was still… polite. He let the coalition and his advisors do most of the talking, and stepped in to mediate debates. He pointed out flaws, bent backward and lost favor with his own people to compromise with smaller worlds.

Altogether he was admirable.

But he hadn’t… said anything.

Not that she was expecting him too!

If it wasn’t for the private idea of marriage joked about before, she probably wouldn’t have ever thought to suggest it either.

And even if he _had_ thought of it, she suspected he was much too… considerate, to offer, or put her in that position.

He had no evidence to suggest that she might want to marry him.

No one did.

It wasn’t until Kolivan and the Blades of Marmora visited that she made up her mind.

“Allura.” Keith stood from one of the chairs in the private room when she entered. The purple Galra style lights from the table flicked beyond his silhouette, where Kolivan also stood to attention. “Is everything alright?”

“If you have suspicions about Lotor, Princess, I would suggest we talk aboard our private ship, not here,” Kolivan added.

She had really only meant to speak to Keith privately, before realizing that he probably couldn’t give her any answers, and had requested Kolivan’s presence too.

Maybe she should have kept it to only the captain.

But Keith was her paladin. Her friend. And somehow it was relieving to have him there anyway.

“No, it’s not about Lotor.” She let the mechanics on the door slide shut behind her.

“Is there some sort of issue you need the Blades to look into?” Keith asked.

She smiled thinly. “No. You can both rest easy, I’m not here on the topic of war. I’m here on the topics of peace.”

“Peace?” Keith frowned.

“Etiquette really. And Kolivan, I need your expertise.”

The Blades leader had a resting emotion of apathetic at the best and worst of times, but now his brow rose in slight surprise.

“As a General?”

“As a Galra.”

Keith's arms crossed and he turned to look at his leader as Allura did, as if waiting for whatever information was about to be prompted.

“I need someone to inform me how one courts another in the Galra culture.”

“S-say that again?” Keith sputtered, his attention immediately back on Allura.

To his credit, Kolivan didn’t balk. “For a mate?”

“For a marriage proposal, specifically.”

“Allura!”

“At what rank?”

“Nobility.”

It was Kolivan who crossed his arms now, head tilting in thought.

“We Galra do not take marriage lightly. It is a trial. A show of strength to one another.”

“As I suspected.” She chuckled, brows creasing. How was it that it always came down to violence? “Do you think you could give me more details.”

“Wait, Allura, shouldn’t you explain first? W-Why do you need to know this right now?”

“Aren’t you curious about your own mother and father Keith?” She asked. The boy looked even more shocked, his mouth closing. “If we are to live side by side, we should know more of each other.”

He didn’t respond.

“It begins with a challenge. We mate for life, and thus must show each other the full extent of our power to be considered a good match.”

“What does that mean?” It was Keith who asked, and Allura was happy to at least see his interest.

“If your partner can defeat you, or at least match you in combat, they would be a worthy adversary to stand alongside. Should you or your children ever need protection.”

“What’s a challenge?”

Kolivan regarded her with an expression akin to tiredness. To him, it was probably obvious. “A strike. Sometimes a fight. If this is nobility as you say, drawing blood is expected.”

“Blood? You really hurt them?”

“Blood doesn’t always mean pain, young blade.” Kolivan admonished, shifting, “But marriage is serious and needs to be treated with as much thought and care as any wound does. This is the idea of the act, anyway.”

Allura sighed. Maybe this was the wrong way to go. “But it’s my understanding that the Galra initiate combat to challenge rule, ranking, or even opinion at times. What’s my intended to think that this is an engagement offer and not an overthrowal?”

The room goes quiet and Allura realized she’d said a little too much. She bites her lips as Keith’s eyes zero in on her. “Uh… who are you proposing to Allura?” He asks.

“That is where Taal Selva comes in.”

“What’s that?”

Keith glares but Kolivan answers.

“Taal Selva is a series of words said after the initial strike, in which to attribute your reasoning for them as your mate. But it is done in verse. With allegory.”

“Poetry?”

“You can call it this.”

Poetry? She wasn't really good at poetry.

“Afterward you must give them three quintents to nurse their wounds, and think on their own Taal Selva to return to you, should they accept.”

“And rejection?”

“They will spit on the floor if they think you not suitable.”

“Oh.”

Kolivan seemed to sense the judgment in the room on that one. “It is done in private and is a dignified rejection. If the response isn’t public, most will assume rejection by the fourth quintent.”

“I see…”

“But if you are to ask Emperor Lotor for his life oath in this way your strike must be in public. It is his people’s right to know who might vie for their Emperor’s attention or else it’s a slight to the entire Empire. ”

“Lotor!” Keith exclaimed.

Allura tried not to blush. “Nothing’s decided yet.”

“Allura, wait, you can’t be serious,”

“I would think most would be in support, if you could actually manage it.” Kolivan nods, and really, it sort of looks like he’s smirking.

It sounds like a challenge.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Lotor may be a half-breed, and a diplomatic scholar rather than a warlord, but it has been a long time since anyone has caught him off guard in a fight.”

Allura wanted to laugh, her hands going to her hips. “You don’t think I can?”

Kolivan actually, truly, laughs. “I am not sure, Princess, but I am making no bets.”

“Has no one ever successfully proposed to him?”

“No one has beaten him in challenges to his station. As for proposal… to my knowledge, the Prince has never been recited Taal Selva.”

Allura frowns. Keith, who's been looking at her lost and a bit mortified, changes his attention. “Why not?” He asks, and Allura waits for the answer.

“He is half breed,” Kolivan says slowly.

“What has that got to do with anything?” Allura asks and tries but fails not to glance at Keith. “Surely as the Crown Prince and a great fighter at least—”

“He is… I am not a female.” Kolivan tries. He looks wrestled. “But he is not… He is not Galra in his features.”

When Keith and Allura continue to stare Kolivan gives up.

“He is very unattractive.” He says plainly.

“I thought strength was the important part,” Keith says.

Kolivan shrugs. “If there is nothing to fill your Taal Selva, I cannot imagine one would be inspired to strike in the first place.”

Allura frowns.

That’s not at all what she expected.

 

* * *

 

It isn’t what Coran expects either, which is funny since it was him who told her she might have to do this whole thing herself.

“Allura, think this over,” he tries, struggling to keep up as they walk fast paced down the halls of the Galra flagship.

“I did, and you said it yourself Coran, I would have to be the one—”

“To bring the subject up, yes, not to fight him!” Coran pleads.

Allura just shakes her head.

“You are both Prince and Princess of different worlds, planets, even, he doesn't expect—nobody expects you to do things the Galra way! When Zarkon and Honerva were married they didn’t resort to fisticuffs"

Allura actually laughs a little. “You don’t know that Coran.”

He has the decency to look dubious.

“Besides, I’ve thought of that.”

She had actually. Just the other day after they had surveyed some of his troops on their recall from the borderlines, she thought of bringing up the topic. In a diplomatic way. Where she could tentatively and casually broach the idea and hear his pragmatic opinion on it. She knows him enough now that she trusted he wouldn’t have scoffed at her or tossed her idea aside with disgust. Even if there was a chance he found her repulsive, he would have been friendly. Thorough.

“Well—think about it some more!” Coran chided.

They turn a corner, and as they grow closer, she lowers her voice to a whisper.

“If I don’t do it this way Coran, it won’t seem genuine.”

“You're both royalty— it’s _not_ genuine!”

“Not to us— to the people! If the Galra see me propose in the Galra way, it will earn me favor. That was obvious just in the way Kolivan reacted. I have to do it this way.”

“What if he hits you back?”

At this point she was more worried she would get spit on.

When they enter the great hall of the capitol Flagship, beneath the merged banners Lotor had hung, she imagines they look like a couple of criminals, whispering angrily to each other.

“Your Majesty,” Lotor acknowledges her first, he usually does, even from atop the steps near his throne.

The paladins are around him and Shiro gives a wave as they draw closer.

“Hey, guys!” Pidge calls.

Lotor lowers himself from the high steps to extend an arm and bow his head. “We were just discussing a possible mission for Voltron, up north where the outpost we marked is.”

She doesn’t say anything on approach, noting the bodies in the room.

The ambassadors from the most recent visit are present; a few from Balmora and Rygnirth, and Ryder herself, from Olkari. And Keith stands with Kolivan in the corner… as well as more than a few Galra generals. Kolivan must have arranged it, they aren’t normally this mingled. Even at a diplomatic dinner like this one.

It would be embarrassing if it wasn’t actually terribly convenient. He had said it had to be _public._

There are soldiers and sentries too, a handful, but they line the far walls. And she can only hope that if this goes down badly, her paladins will be there to hold them off long enough to make her words heard.

She would need to do it here, now, before Lotor escorted everyone into the dining quarters.

“Princess, _pleaasssseeeee,"_  Coran whispers harshly at her side as she moves in close to the group.

“Hello everyone, sorry we’re late.”

“You haven’t missed anything.” Lance drawled. “Just a lot of boring chit-chat about planets.”

“Lotor was telling us about the outer worlds having a hard time,” Shiro explains.

“Yes.” She agrees, eyeing the Prince. He smiles encouragingly. “We had been discussing that. I agree with him, we should see that Voltron protects the new outpost we want placed there.”

“I was thinking we could get some tech set up out there too,” Pidge interjected, and everyone turned to look at her. “If we take advantage of the location, we could use the higher latitudes to amplify Hunk and I’s signal to track the opposing Galra forces.”

“That might help us in the search of Haggar’s flagship,” Lotor said. He leans in, his tall frame curling elegantly to better level his gaze at the shorter, green paladin.

Allura stares at the shape of his claws as they come up to hold his chin.

“That’s exactly what he and I were thinking!” Pidge motions to her and Hunk, who gives Lotor a thumbs up.

She doesn’t see a weapon on Lotor’s hip or legs, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one. It’s a risk she’ll have to take. It’s why she changed from her dress to the simple flightsuit, for mobility, in case she had to, well, run.

Her fingers fist and un-fist, feeling a little damp.

“We actually were wondering if there was anything in this crazy place that old lady had her hands on. Maybe something that would help us match a frequency to her space magic.” Hunk is saying.

Lotor is nodding.

He’s about an arm’s length away. Nothing is between him and the length of the room towards the wall so, if she angled it right, it shouldn’t affect any of the paladins. And glancing over her shoulder, the sentries and the soldiers look bored. At ease.

Kolivan and Keith are staring right at her.

“I believe there are quite a few items that might help the process. After dinner, perhaps I could take you to her former place on the ship. There might be something there.”

“That would be perfect.”

“Yeah and then we could install the stuff once we get out there.”

Her breath seems to wrack her whole body. She’s keenly aware of each pull of her lungs as she stares at the smooth expanse of the Prince’s purple face. Lilac and lush.

“Princess, would you be inclined—”

He turns, she hadn't expected him to turn toward her.

But it’s too late, she’d already pivoted at that moment. Her back foot slides to a bend, tapping Coran, he jumps backward from her, shouting, but it hits her ears in slow motion as her elbow extends and her fist collides with Prince Lotor’s face. It’s resistance immediately. As smooth as he appeared, her knuckles all crack in tandem as if she’s struck marble. Even still, his body gives way and the power behind her blows lifts her off her back leg as she follows through with the punch.

And then everything happens, very, very fast.

All the paladins start yelling, one of the ambassadors scream, there’s laughing somewhere, and white hair flickers through her vision before she closes her eyes and lands back on her feet.

Lotor hits the ground with a thud so loud it vibrates through the great hall and it’s answered by the echo of a handful of sentry lasers locking into a charge.

“WHAT THE QUIZNA—”

“HOLY SHIT!”

“ALLURA!”

“Ohmygosh—OHMYGOSHOMYGOSH—”

“Stand down! Stand down, please— wait—”

Her right hand is _pulsing_ , and she’s pretty sure she’s broken a finger. Her nail might have cut into her palm because it feels wet but that might be just sweat.

But her eyes are only on him.   
  
His elbow digs into the purple carpeting of the chamber and his hair musses away from his face. His gaze finds hers immediately, narrowed in the utmost unabashed confusion.

“Allura,” She hears him say over the yelling and jumping her paladins are doing. Or the scuffle that’s happening with whatever the Blades of Marmora are doing with the guards.

The whisper of her name blooms a deep red that pearls on his lip and trails fast down his chin.

_Oh._

“Lilac and lush!!” Allura near screams. It’s hard to do, she can barely breathe. Her heart is slamming in her chest and everything feels really, really hot.

But the room goes silent. Utterly, unbearably silent.

She feels every eye on her.

Oh, she wished she could have done this the Altean way.

 _“L-lilac and lush,”_   She starts again and, oh, it’s hard to do this staring right at his face. _“with a name, I can only bear to hush,”_

She watches his brows ease up his forehead. The yellow around his eyes gets large as they dilate. His head tilts, elbow stilling from trying to help himself up. He freezes completely. 

“Uh, what is happening?” Lance says somewhere behind her.

_“You cut through thought, I’m wrought, unfought,”_

She can’t really hear herself, but she’d repeated the words enough over the last two nights that they’re ingrained in her.

And he must hear her too because his chest is expanding and retracting so noticeably she thinks she might have knocked the wind from him through his face.

A bruise begins to unfurl so blackish blue it looks like an Altean poppy flower. 

_“Taken to sleep only by dreams of white locks, tight grips, and smiles sweet.”_

She’s blinking fast.

He’s not blinking at all.

The hall is silent.

But there is no hum of lasers, no more shouting, just an air of tense… awkwardness.

It’s actually much easier to take her eyes off the Prince than she originally thinks, and she ignores her paladins and their large, questioning expressions and outstretched hands to grab Coran’s arm.

“Princess,”

“We’re leaving, we’re leaving, leaving, leaving,” She hurries under her breath.

“Yes, okay, right-o!” He whispers back, and they leave like they came, like criminals.

No one stops them.


	2. Carmine Red

“Okay, that was by far; the weirdest dinner I ever had.”

Allura twisted in the guest lounge to watch Hunk enter the room, followed by the rest of the paladins.

“Hunk! How was it?”

“Weird!! It was weird, okay!” Lance pushed through to meet her, expression dour. “Because right before you punched Lotor in the face and broke out in song!”

“Rhyme.” Shiro corrected.

“Whatever and then everyone started talking about marriage—”

“You could have at least warned us what you were going to do—”

“I can’t believe you proposed to that guy!!”

“We were really surprised, Princess.”

Her eyes landed on Shiro, his face not angry, more concerned.

“I’m sorry everyone. But it was a decision that was my own to make,” She tried, her hands clasping before her in a bit of supplication. Behind them, the door swished open once more and she perked, outstretching her arm in welcome. “B-besides, I told Keith,”

“Keith!?” Lance exclaimed.

Everyone turned to the Blade, who grit his teeth with a forced cringe.

“You. Told. Keith!???”

“H-hey, I was just as surprised as anyone else.”

“Yeah about a few hours earlier!”

“No, two quintents before—”

“You knew _two days_ ago!?”

“Everyone please,” Shiro said, his voice gentle but loud enough to blanket the room. “As unexpected as the um… marriage proposal,” Lance groaned at the words. “was, it’s happened. We need to prepare for what that means.”

“ _Allura_ needs to prepare for what that means. _We_ aren’t marrying Lotor.” Pidge said.

“Um, is your hand okay Princess?” Hunk asked. It made everyone look at her, and the heavy bandages on her pinky and forefinger Coran had wrapped.

“Oh, I’m alright Hunk, they’re just a tiny bit broken.”

“He broke your hand!!??” Lance was steaming.

“No, _I_ broke my hand. On his… face,” She ended lamely. Pidge snorted, her fist burying in her mouth to try and hide the mirth. Lance glared knives at her. “How—How was he?” She directs the question at Hunk, not sure if she could really bring herself to look at anyone else when asking this. “Did he… say anything?”

Hunk eyes her with surprise and suddenly starts jittering under the attention of the room. “Oh, Lotor? You mean Lotor right? He’s… uhhhh,”

Allura makes a cringing expression. Her fingers feel cold. And where she once felt hot and impatient she feels chilly and shaken, remembering nothing but the look of shock and near horror on the Galra Prince’s face as he lay bleeding on the ground. Oh, this could be very bad. She had been avoiding coming to terms with what she’d done until now but, oh no— she could have ruined what little friendship they had finally established.

Or worse.

Her stomach does a few flips that make her feel lightheaded before Shiro saves her.

“Lotor didn’t say anything Allura.”  
  
“Yeah, he was silent all night. It was one of the other General’s who took us dinner.” Pidge elaborated.  
  
“He didn’t talk to anybody, even when Kolivan explained what happened,” Keith said, coming closer from the door. Lance turned his glare back to the Blade. “He told the rest of the ambassadors about what it had meant. And Kolivan said it would soon be known throughout the ship.”  
  
“And the Empire,” Shiro added, giving her a serious look.

“The Galra were actually quite jovial.” Keith continued.

“Too jovial.” Lance huffed.

“They kept talking about how it only took one hit to get him on his back. They seemed impressed.”

That was good. Right? Kolivan had mentioned it was usually a fight. But it hadn’t been. That was good? No? It was quiet again, but still, they hadn’t really relieved her. Her hands curled around her arms.

“But Lotor is he…?”

Hunk gave her a frown. “He sorta just sat there with a bloody face and then left before dessert.”  
  
“Is that normal?” Allura asked, knowing that her paladins could all only just shake their heads and shrug. It’s exactly what they did.

“Oh! Everyone’s back!”

With the lull in conversation, they all watched Coran enter with a small serving tray, his and Allura’s own dinner. He placed it at the center table and smiled wanly. “I’m guessing it went well.” 

Everyone just stared.  
  
“I suppose none of us will know until he gives his response.”  
  
“We have time,” Keith informed. “He has three days to accept or refuse.”  
  
“Three days? Why would it take anyone that long to decide on Allura!?” Lance throws his arms out to her and she just flushes, putting her hands about her face. She can’t assume that Lotor thought anyway about her. This had to be more about diplomacy to him than, well, matchmaking.

“You’ll tell us if he says yes or no, won’t you?” Shiro asks. 

“If he says yes, everybody will know,” Keith says. “It has to be public. Especially as Emperor. And… that was the whole point, wasn’t it Allura?” He asks this a bit tentatively.

And then everyone looks concerned. 

“What? Of course! I—I made the decision based on the best action for peace! It’s— this isn’t personal! Even participating in the tradition was a diplomatic tactic to appear culturally sensitive to our once enemies. I mean, please! I am well practiced enough in the affairs of court and state and—”  
  
“Oooooookay.” Pidge drawls, interrupting softly before Allura could think of any more political sounding terms to seem convincing. “So, what if he says no?”  
  
“After he spits, I’m sure we just go back to paperwork. Right Allura?”

The stares turn slowly to Keith.

“Excuse me, did you say spit?” Hunk asks.  
  
“He spits on Allura if he says no!?” Lance grabs at Keith’s Marmora uniform and yanks him close.

Keith looks defensive of the Galra way of things, pushing at the boy. “It’s private! It’s dignified!” 

“That’s not dignified that’s disgusting!”

“Keith’s right.” She says and the two stop squabbling and turn back to her. “Not about the—well, yes, if he says no, that _is_ what happens, but what I mean is, he’s right that a rejection doesn’t change anything. I only went through with the proposal because I knew we didn’t have anything to lose.” She smiles at them all, trying to get them to see her logic of it all. “At best, we set a faster pace toward a unified galaxy. At worst, I’m a little embarrassed.”

The room seems less tense for her words. Even Lance releases Keith and shakes his head.

“Man the Galra way is just weird. Punching and spitting,”  
  
“I admit I had thought of going the easy way and trying it in my own culture since the Prince is half Altean.”

“How do you propose in Altean?” Hunk asked.

“Oh, an Altean proposal usually lasts quite a while!” Coran explains excitedly. “It’s an exchanging of personal trinkets, gifts, tokens—”

“It’s a show of value to your emotions. The men usually start by putting a sacred gemstone on the pillow of the woman they want to marry. Then if she’s interested, she sneaks a vial of elkor water into his pockets. And if he’s still interested he hands over a taleson chain—”  
  
“Alright, alright, alright, lots of gifts. Got it.” Lance gave a breath of exhaustion. “You guys make it so complicated!”  
  
“It’s the test of it! If you can’t keep up with the gifts,” Coran shakes his head dismissively. “You probably aren’t ready to get married. Or maybe can’t afford it.”

“The Galra sort of have the same idea.” Keith murmured. “I mean, about the engagement being the test.” He defends slightly.

“Still, can’t you just buy a ring and call it a day?” Lance asks.  
  
Allura and Coran look at each other dubiously.  
  
“A ring?”

“Like jewelry?”

“Yeah, you know, like a small gold band.” Hunk explains, pointing to his finger.

Pidge starts shaking her head immediately. “No way, you know you have to buy the right kind of diamond, right? You can’t just buy a band.”  
  
“What do you do with it?” Allura asks.  
  
“Traditionally, the men buy a wedding ring, usually with a diamond,” Pidge explains. “They take their partner to a fancy restaurant, have dinner, and maybe—”  
  
“Oh, sometimes you put the ring in their drink!”  
  
“What!?” Allura gasps. “They devour it?”  
  
“No, it’s, it’s a surprise—”  
  
“Hunk, that’s not everybody!”  
  
“Usually he gets on one knee and shows her the ring before asking. Then there’s a wedding shower and cake.”  
  
“Or some people do a flash mob,” Lance adds. “I like it when people choreograph a whole thing, with fireworks and—”  
  
“Sounds complicated to me!” Coran pipes with a cheeky grin.

Allura has to nod in agreement. She isn’t sure she could do any sort of public dance. Or a wedding shower? Would they bathe together? The back of her neck feel damp and her ears burn at the idea.

“I guess it is to different people,” Shiro concludes.

“No matter what, it does seem like there is a part where we all just have to wait.”  
  
“Allura. _Allura_ has to wait.” Pidge corrects once again, keen to not include herself in the matter.

“Yes.” She agrees.

Once more, the whole room looks at her. 

“I just have to wait.”

 

* * *

 

It’s a lot harder then she thinks.

The quintet after, she heads to Lotor’s survey room, where they had been meeting for the past few dalcycles nearly every day to discuss the treaty.

She’s turned away.

“Emperor Lotor is gone.”

It’s the only explanation she gets from the guard stationed there, though he does smile widely at her. It’s a change she notices with every interaction after. Any of the Galra she comes across either bow extremely low, move from her path completely, or stare with giant grinning teeth.

It’s a little unsettling, and little more annoying.

“I’m surrounded by people laughing at me.” She vents to Coran, collapsing onto the lounges in the guest quarters. 

“They’re not laughing at you!”

But he doesn’t offer another explanation.

Dinner that night is also absent of Lotor, though it’s not absent of their visiting ambassadors, who she uses to preoccupy her time by entertaining as any good Princess might.

They don’t easily distract her though.

“We had no idea that the Galra Prince had stolen your heart,” Ryder says, expression soft and smile wide.

Allura laughs too loudly and too quickly and stifles it with a strange cough. “Oh, yes, well, in times of war emotions can be, ah, emotions can be—Well, they can _be_ , can’t they?”

Just terrible.  
  
Ryder doesn’t seem to mind, simply turning to share happy nods with the other Coalition leaders.  
  
“He must be a kind man to be considered your husband," a small Protean murmurs.  
  
Oh. _That_ she can handle.  
  
“He is.” She assures. “Prince Lotor has been nothing but diplomatic. He cares for the future of the galaxy as a whole, and yes, for the Galra’s place in it, but in unison with others.” This. This is easy. This is something she's confident in. She might not know how to think of him in the capacity of a betrothed, but she knows what she has witnessed herself in his quiet company. Behind closed doors or in the private meetings with him and Voltron.  “He put an end to Zarkon’s rule not to take it for himself, but to progress his people beyond endless conquest.”  
  
“You believe he means to make amends? To allow our planets freedom from Galra rule?”  
  
“I do.” She smiles. “I had my own prejudices, but he has more than proved himself a man worthy of trust.”

“And love,” the Rygorith ambassador chuckles.

Allura’s teeth clip into her cheek and she shrinks a little.

“Yes.”

“My people will not stop asking about the news. Word has spread to even our smallest villages. They are waiting with bated breath for the answer.” He expresses and the others nod with agreement. 

“S-So am I.”

 

* * *

  
  
On the second quintet, she’s turned away again.

“Emperor Lotor is gone.”

“Yes, but gone where!?”  
  
The guards just look at each other before chuckling.

She rolls her eyes.

She spends most of the morning with her paladins then. Still planning on heading to the northern territory to create the collaborated outpost, Pidge and Hunk are hard at work on their radar tech, while Lance and Shiro help Galra soldiers load up supplies on their ships.

She carries a few crates in and out of the docked ramps too, checks inventory, and meets with the supervisors to make suggestions.  

“We should make a duplicate of the stock list and share it with the Coalition. They might know of something we’re missing. Or perhaps can fill the gaps.”  
  
“Right away Princess.”  
  
“And can you see to it that the outposts’ planet has a complete run through? We wouldn’t want to get there and realize it’s terribly poisonous.” She chuckles slightly.

“Whatever you wish Princess.”

She considers the two Galra. 

The lead supervisor is a woman, looking back at her with an easy-going smile that bears some pretty large fangs. The man beside her holds the holo panel, his ears fluffed a dark blue. They seem friendly, oddly. And for a few moments, the three of them are just quiet, regarding her.

Are they… waiting for orders?

“If I could speak out of turn, Princess of Altea?”  
  
She nearly jumps at the sudden speech, but nods, glancing to see that her paladins are still close. Just in case.

“Speak what’s on your mind, Soldier.”  
  
The woman’s claws rise to clench in the air before smacking into each other. It’s aggressive. Allura nervously double checks to spot Shiro among the cargo.

“You’re power is admirable! And to return from triumph to help mere labor workers is a kind but wasteful endeavor!” 

“Agreed. You, Princess, are most righteous and gentle.” The male’s yellow eyes narrow with his wide grin.

“Oh.” That… wasn’t what she expected them to say. “Well, thank you. But, truly, I am just doing my duty to aid others that—”  
  
“You knocked Lotor flat on his back with one punch!” The man mimics the action and the woman starts laughing when the holo panel fizzles out. “No one has ever bested Lotor!”

“Yes, I’ve heard he… well I know he's quite strong.”  
  
“No Taal Selva has ever come out faster! One punch!” The woman booms and her set of canines shine as her head kicks back and they laugh. It’s loud.  
  
Allura feels like she’ll sink through the grates into space. She almost wants to.  
  
“Is… is that not normal?” She asks, her voice small and tentative.

The laughing stops.

Both Galra look at each other before turning to her. It’s the man who answers, his shoulders shrugging with a look of sheepishness. 

“Not really. Most bond proposals take at least a few rounds before the intended is rendered immobile enough to recite Taal Selva.”  
  
Allura can feel the worry in the back of her head grow so large it fills her chest and empties her stomach. Oh no. She’d humiliated him.  
  
“I’ve offended him,”  
  
“No!! Not that!”  
  
“No, no, no, no, no!!” They both rush to say, raising their arms and shaking their heads. And it would be funny to see two Galra soldiers trying desperately to placate her if she wasn’t being eaten up by nerves.  
  
“I’ve done it the wrong way, they say he’s never been bested and I’ve shamed him! An Altean! In front of everyone”  
  
“No, Princess—”  
  
“No, no, no, no, no!!!”

Her hands grip at her neck a bit helplessly.

“Princess, you drew blood! Your strike rendered him weak!” 

Oh stars, she made him bleed, basically in front of his entire Empire.

They must see the look on her face because they crowd her quickly and the female soldier places a claw very delicately on Allura’s shoulder.  
  
“This is no slight to Lotor, Princess, it only speaks of his devotion.”  
  
She looks up from the floor to catch the male nodding in agreement.  
  
“What?”  
  
“We Galra are never vulnerable for a strike.” She explains, and it’s easy to find the pride in her tone. It helps that her assistant is nodding so fast he might shake his head off. “Even from our closest of kin, even with our own squadron, you must be ready for a hit. Sometimes as only a show of bonding.”

Allura frowns, staring up at the woman’s yellow eyes. They’re almost gleaming. 

“Our Emperor has never once been caught off guard, but so sure and trustworthy he was that you would never harm him, he was not even expecting a strike of love.”  
  
Allura’s face is on fire.  
  
“It is a blindness that makes us smile.” The male says and grins enough that his sharp furred ears point upward.  
  
“It also makes us laugh. He underestimated you because he _overestimated_ you.”  
  
The claw leaves her shoulder and they’re laughing again. Happy and contagious to each other.

She tries to smile and accomplishes it, if only a little. But her body still feels broken into shivers while her insides burn up.

 

* * *

 

It’s the third quintent and she doesn’t even try the survey room.

There’s a part of her that worries she’d just be turned away and another part of her worried she’d be accepted inside, where she would find him.

In private.

The thought haunts her way more than it should. If he says no, he says no. It was just as she told the others. No loss. Just… a slight embarrassment. She could live with that.

Of course, there is the spitting thing.

It’s actually the act of imagining Lotor spitting on the floor at her feet that makes her strive to be in the most public places she can find on the flagship.

At first, it works. She preoccupies herself with idle chatter in the random places she finds her paladins or her ambassadors, learns things about some of the daily routines of their new Galra allies—and then soon can’t stand the stalking gazes, or the pestering nudges to her shoulder and the whispered, _“Today’s the day.” “Have you seen him yet?” “It’s the third quintent isn’t it?”_

In an indecisive move to either hide or find safety in a crowd, she seeks out Shiro and Coran in the bay where their Lions are kept. 

“Princess!” Coran exclaims. He looks suspiciously nervous. “I thought you’d be—”  
  
“Is something going on?” She asks quickly.  
  
Shiro regards her and the computer panels they’re looking over. He regards both about three times before gritting his teeth.  
  
“We were actually talking about shipping out Voltron to the outpost today.”  
  
“Why’s that?” She asks, brows rising. She takes steps closer and both Coran and Shiro turn with their backs to the panel tower as if they could sit on it.

“Uh, well—” Shiro tries. His mouth splits in what is supposed to be an unalarming smile. It’s not. 

“Lotor told us to!” Coran almost screams as she gets so close she can practically see the sweat on their pores.

“What!?”

“Lotor—”  
  
“He only sent—”  
  
She pushes past them, shoving Coran’s away easily and bumping Shiro’s paladin armor to get to the message.

There’s an open communication from the Emperor himself, in the Altean alphabet no less. It winks at her in the blinking light.

‘ _Paladins of Voltron, if you would care to launch to the outpost a quintent early I can rendezvous with you and the Coalition in the north today. My assigned ships have already left this morning.’_  
  
“This morning!? Tonight?” She asks the screen.  
  
It doesn’t reply.  
  
“I guess he really did leave the capitol.” Coran deduces. And it does look that way.

Did he have to think so hard about his decision that he had to… go somewhere else?  
  
And traveling all the way north—that would take vargas. There wouldn’t be enough time to...  
  
“Princess, we can say no,” Shiro suggests. But he looks conflicted about it. About as much as she feels.  
  
“No…” She answers even though she’s not sure if it’s the right answer. “I-I trust Lotor. And moreover, the outpost is essentially more important than,”   _Me_ , isn’t the right word. She has to tell herself that. “anything else. We should stay on course with our prior plans.”  
  
“This isn’t staying on course this is speeding up!” Coran argues.  
  
“Yes, that’s fine too.” She argues back. “His ships have already left, we should follow. We’ll just… see him tonight or… tomorrow at the outpost.”  
  
“Well, that’s decided. I’ll let the others know.” Shiro says.  
  
“Prepare the Castle, Coran.”  
  
He sighs. “Yes, Princess.”

* * *

  
Her rush back to her quarters is filled with annoyance.

Anger maybe.

Not about the proposal, no, _of course not_ — but the change in scheduling. Obviously. It’s annoying, and now they all have to hurry and load up the ship to trail after Lotor’s space dust. He could have at least warned them yesterday.

The anger leaves her sloppy.

She doesn't even realize she’s alone, turning down hallways until she sees him.

Lotor.

It takes everything in her not to yell out in surprise.

Almost three quintents of absence and then all of a sudden there he is, a whole head and a half taller than her, looking down out the energy viewports that line the hallways to her temporary rooms. The color casts his white hair a lilac.

Lush.

And oh stars, they’re alone. They’re private. This is so, so, so bad.

She debates turning right around and leaving, but it’s hard to take her eyes off him because she hasn’t seen him since she’d knocked him on the ground but no one has stopped talking about it and it’s been driving her mad, they’re both adults, they're both royalty, they’ve talked politics before, they could talk about this, surely.

“Allura.”

His yellow eyes turn and purple finds her after.

She takes two steps back into the hallway wall before turning.

Gotta get public, gotta get public, gotta _be_ in public—

“Allura.” He calls again, and she can hear his boots follow her down the metal plates of the ship.

So she stops. Back turned.

Spitting doesn’t last that long, does it?

She gathers in as much breath as she can to hold it before turning around.

And he's right there. Inches away. She has to look up. His raised chin lowering only a little to meet her gaze as best he can at this… tight proximity.  
  
“May I have a few moments of your time, Princess?”  
  
She’s too busy holding her breath to say anything, and she might breathe fire with how hot everything is—why is everything so hot in this damned Galra ship, honestly?— so she just nods.  
  
He’s silent, following that. Just looking at her. And for a moment they’re both just staring at each other. It feels a lot like the other night again. Except he’s not on the ground and she’s not screaming poetry.

The bruise is much smaller than she remembers too. He heals quickly. The cut on his lip though, that’s still there, It’s a dark sliver of purple where it had once been a shiny carmine red. It stretches when he smiles.

 _Oh_  . He’s smiling.  
  
“Princess,” His hand moves to her, the tips of his claws gently hovering beneath her elbow. “I must express my immense admiration for your utter genius.”

“What?” Allura’s breath hisses out of her as she parts her lips. She has to blink a few times because his eyes narrow and then widen, his smile turns loose and he flashes teeth and tongue before closing his mouth. And then his hand leaves her to cover his mouth in _excitement_ before returning. 

“Never will I doubt your mind, in all my years— Allura—”

He’s been saying her name a lot without an honorific, which is terribly new for him, but not something she finds she hates. The back of her thoughts remind her that it’s improper, but he says it so carefully it almost doesn’t seem so.  
  
“I am ten thousand years old, surprise is not an easy thing to come by, and whilst the present has never been more fast-paced, never more opportune, never more enthralling than now, I am overtaken with envy—no—intimidation, with how easily you came to such a clean and concise solution.”  
  
A hitch in her breath is all she can manage. This is… not at all what she’d expected and honestly it’s a little hard to keep up with him. He physically turns from her to curl a fist at the viewport.

“In one move, you turned millennia of contention between enemies, an innumerable amount of prejudice, and the doubts of untrustworthy rivals into one unified, mewling, fickle heart swayed by an act of love.” He chuckles. It’s deep, fast, and sharp. Her heart skips a beat in time with each pang of the sound.

“I only…” Her voice sounds impossibly small.  
  
“Only?” He hears her anyway and turns back to regard her. His eyes more gold now with how large they are and how the light plays in them. “It is only you who could think of such a peaceful but efficient solution to the aftereffects of war and conquest. Marriage, how neatly it fits. It's genius.”  
  
Allura follows him then, waving her hands. “Lotor, please, it’s a common idea between most reigns. As vessels for our people, our actions reflect in their decisions.”  
  
“It’s not common in this world anymore. Maybe because of your timeless nature, you see it as viable.” He nods. “But in days when your Coalition planets know only my father’s cruelty, they would never think to marry one of their own to his son. It is why I suspect it never crossed my mind either.”  
  
“But, you… agree?” She asks. It's a little bit timid and she hates herself for it. She tries to draw up that political face her father used to wear.

“Do I agree?” He’s shaking his head, and she mimics him in confusion, but then he’s smiling. “The past two quintents I have been approached by people from planets my father had demolished, asking me what it was to taste your fist.”  
  
Her hand goes to her forehead and she looks away, trying to avoid facing those words, once more she wonders if she’s ejecting off the ship.  
  
“And not just them, the Galra—” He pauses. “I—”  
  
She has to look back at him then. Lotor almost never stutters. And she’s rewarded with his eyes flickering over the floor. A bit of white hair escapes his ear as he tilts his chin, thinks, and returns to her gaze. “The Galra act as though I am a brother to them, relating to me their own stories of their wives and husbands Taal Selva. It’s not common. Not to me.”

His voice is deeper than usual. 

Allura finds that everything seems hyper-aware. Not slow motion, but she can feel the smile in the corners of her mouth before she can even do it herself. And she can see the quiver in his brow as he steps closer.  
  
“It’s because of you. Of course, I agree.”  
  
“Oh.” And then she can smile. “I had worried I’d offended, that perhaps I should have warned you—”  
  
“No. I feel no offense.” His hand presses against his face for only a tick before falling away. “It was perfect in its execution. And it is the Galra way. Genius on your part, again. They find you a champion because of that choice. They accepted you the instant you landed your strike.”  
  
Her eyes try to focus on the hallway instead of his glowing expression. Although it’s hard not to admit that this is exactly what she had hoped for. His pragmatic, direct speech, and his agreement. It’s nice to hear his voice again. Nice to allow her anxiety to be smoothed by his validation.  
  
Validation. It’s funny, but she does admire his skill as a leader himself. As a diplomat. His agreement feels encouraging.

“I have to admit, when I saw you here after hearing we were shipping out, I thought this was the private rejection I had been warned about.”

Lotor steps backward, his smile gone.  
  
“What faux pas.” He near whispers. “Forgive me, Princess. I need no reminder on the days left for my response, but of course, you would think I would be here to reject you.”

Allura shrugs.

“No, I accept you as my wife. You may have my life oath.”

She freezes. She'd been so concerned with the rejection she almost forgot what acceptance would sound like. And it… it sounded like that, didn’t it? Just like that. He said it so easily. 

“Oh. Good. Quite. Yes.” She’s nodding.

He’s not smiling anymore though.  
  
“I will be announcing my reciprocation tonight at the outpost, where the most might hear and see it; witnesses from both my Empire and the Coalition.”  
  
When he says it like that, it seems so obvious Allura wants to punish herself for being so anxious the entire time.  
  
“That would be the most efficient.” She agrees, her body relaxing, even though her heart hasn’t stopped its wretched pace since he’s begun speaking.  
  
“I simply needed to speak with you privately. To share with you my gratitude.”  
  
“Well, honestly I’m glad we could speak like this.” She says, and her hand rubs her face. “That was slightly stressful and I was beginning to think I had ruined every…. thing.”  
  
She hadn’t noticed his outstretched hand. She hadn’t noticed him kneel.

He’s a whole head and a half below her now. His hand raised.

And there’s a sliver of silver in his palm. A snaking line of chain dipping through the spaces of his fingers. Two bright purple stones on either end. 

Her hand is gripping it before she even realizes it. She has to. She needs to touch it. _Has to._  
  
“A taleson chain.” She whispers.  
  
Her nose burns, her ears burn, her eyes burn. Her lungs breathe steam.  
  
“Forgive me.” He says, letting her take it from his hand. “I called forces and contacts, but spriggan stones have seemed to have been destroyed when Altea was.”  
  
It’s light and airy, but resolute and it _feels,_ it feels just as the taleduv or the flowers in her viewing room do. Imbued with magic. And it’s so strange to have something that’s so undeniably her homeworld right here on board an unforgivably Galra ship.  
  
“I had to return the favor you have done for my people. Proposing in the Galra fashion was not for me, but for them. And so I bring this for you, but also for Altea. To show in the same fashion that I accept you as my Taal Selva will.”

She can’t hear him. She really can’t. The stones roll in her fingertips and the chain makes a dusting sound like the twinkle of stars or the crinkle of ice.

He must take her silence as something else because he stands slowly and his brows crease downward.  
  
“It is my understanding this was a part of Altean courtship.”  
  
“It’s a cape, ah, it’s,” She gestures to her collarbone, moving as if to fashion each link to each shoulder. “It clasps here, and here, like so, it’s for, they, yes, they would give it upon a proposal from their own armor.”  
  
“ _The clothes off my back_ ?” He asks.  
  
She nods, “Yes, that’s the idea.”  
  
“How tender. Altean tradition never ceases to reach my heart in ways it never met my life.”  
  
He looks so accepting of his detachment Allura almost wants to give him the chain back for  _him_ to keep.  
  
“Would that I could find you the rest of the gifts—”  
  
“That is, completely unnecessary! Really, there is almost thirty-seven in all.”  
  
Lotor laughs. “Perhaps in slow succession then.”  
  
They go quiet, looking at each other.  
  
The hum of the energy viewports seems to tingle into her entire being. And the taleson chain almost conduits the buzz. Or maybe it’s him. His charm has never felt so oddly magnetic in the way it does now.  
  
“It is decided then, Princess.”  
  
The honorifics are back, but her smile doesn’t fall. “Yes, I think so.”  
  
“Then keep this meeting secret and await my Taal Selva tonight.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
“And if you would do me the favor of perhaps feigning surprise?” He says it as he walks around her, towards the end of the hallway, the smirk on his face akin to the ones she'd seen him wear on the battlefield.   
  
She wasn’t sure would need to, honestly.  
  
“Of course.”

He bows and then she watches him leave, her fingers curling around the chain and clasping it beneath her chin to hold her smile.


	3. Blue Splendor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say, thanks to everyone who's commented so far. T_T I'm not an author who replies back to comments most of the time. But this fic is so silly and for such an underrated ship that I'm honestly astounded it's received so much love. THANK YOU!

The ride through space in Blue was a blur of cold and hot goosebumps rushing through her. She was thankful to have the alone time right after the interaction, it gave her a moment to breathe. To think.  
  
Though admittedly she ended up thinking of nothing.

She simply allowed her hands to relax on the controls and admire the gaseous forms of nebulas and matter as they flickered by, distracted only by comparing the starlight to the light dancing off the chain about her wrist.

There was something so strange about it all. A mixture of emotions so overwhelming and contrasting it brought her to near tears. Not because she was sad or happy, just because she wasn't sure _what_ she was.

Her mother, her governess, her father— everyone in her whole life had insisted she would someday receive one. It was a part of life. A part of Altea. It was inevitable.

Then suddenly, she knew that she would _never_ own one. And the acceptance of that fact had to be so instant, so unconscious, so quick, that she barely had time to mourn that such innocuous pieces of her home were lost forever. She prioritized her grieving for her family above silly cultural trinkets.

And yet, there it was.

It was hard to stop looking at.

Where did he even find it? Why hadn’t she asked that? Had she been that pathetically speechless?

How had he even known about the tradition? Half-Altean, yes, but, he’d been born after its destruction. Somehow she doubted Zarkon rocked his son to sleep with lessons about Altean marriage.

She’d have to interrogate him further when they could be alone again, after his acceptance to their engagement.

Right.  
  
The next time they were alone, they’d be engaged.

Right. 

Her fingers gripped the controls and her lips rolled against her teeth. Of course, they would. _That was the point._

Actually, this alone time wasn’t relaxing at all.

Thankfully, their arrival swept her up in enough activities for her to take her mind off the whole ordeal.

They had to make a showy landing in the Lions, as they escorted the Castle in, making sure both the Coalition and Galra forces could witness the arrival of the Voltron team.

After that, the group barely had time to connect with each other as they helped both sides introduce themselves, move supplies and unload, and lead most of the assigned soldiers into the outpost itself.

The planet was a tiny thing. Breathable. Awfully orange in atmospheric color, maybe due to the closeness to this sector’s star. It made it seem like there was an endless sunset in the sky, pouring rays of gold into the viewports inside of the station. 

The main deck was a little too small for the number of people there.  
  
“Well, I don’t think I’ve seen something like this for awhile,” Coran said in way of greeting as he met her side.  
  
They both stood in the center of the room at the debriefing table, taking in the sight of Galra soldiers conversing with the variety of faces that made up the Coalition. The crowd was dotted with paladins too. Shiro was talking to some of the freedom fighters, helping them heft crates into the storage racks. Pidge was having another reunion with her brother, whilst Hunk directed a few sentries to the outer walls. Lance and Keith seemed to be arguing with each other in the corner.

No Lotor.  
  
“I didn’t know the Blades were following us.” She said, pushing away any worries from her mind.  
  
“They said they wanted to be here when the data went through from Pidge’s tracker.” Coran rocked back on his feet, “I imagine they’re keen to get moving on reining in the rest of the purebloods.”  
  
“That’s respectable.”  
  
“Princess Allura!”  
  
A hand waved at them in the crowd, a furry one, donned in freedom fighter garb by the center table. Olia. Surrounded by a few other of the fighters and two Galra soldiers.  
  
Allura raised her hand in response as the group made their way over.

Coran snatched her fingers before they went down.

She jumped, turning to have her vision absorbed by ginger hair and the widest eyes she’d ever seen on the man.  
  
“Is. That.” He wheezed, somehow accomplishing a scream in a whisper. “A. Taleson. Chain?”  
  
Allura yanked her hand away, heat steaming her from toes to ears. “W-what are you talking about?” She whispered back harshly, before acknowledging, “Olia! I—I had no idea you were stationed here."  
  
“I volunteered.” The caeninnous grinned, her snout full of gleaming teeth. “We all did.” She motioned to the two others beside her.  
  
“That’s wonderful.” She smiled. “R-right Coran?”

Coran was burning a hole in her head with his stare. 

“MHM!” He squealed through his gritted teeth.

“I have to admit that I was a little worried when I heard about the idea, but then we got here and I met Trusk— turns out we both grew up in this sector!” Olia’s eyes were bright as she motioned to one of the Galra.  
  
Trusk seemed to be put on the spot.  
  
“My-my family was stationed at the security perimeter two moons from here.” He explained, his large claws grabbing his neck sheepishly.  
  
Allura wasn’t aware Galra could blush so deeply. She smiled.  
  
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you Trusk.”

He took her hand eagerly. 

“And you Princess Allura.”  
  
Before warmth from the significance of shaking a Galra’s hand in introduction could settle with her, Coran nudged into her.  
  
“My, my— what a bbeeeeautiiffulllll bracelet you got there, Princess.” He drawled. “Where’d. You. Get. That?”  
  
She glared, closing her hand around her wrist as the small group blinked in confusion. “C-Coran, please—”  
  
“What!?” He accused, glaring beneath his large brows, failing at his look of nonchalance as his body tensed up. “I only ask because it looks an awwwwfullllllll lot like," He took a deep breath, "thechainstheAlteansusedtowearbetweenthemantlesoftheirarmoredcapes!”  
  
“I hope you find it welcoming here!” She near shouted and the freedom fighters and Galra step back a little at the volume.   
  
“Y-yes.” Trusk noted.  
  
“Sure will.” Olia reassured, sweating.

“Will Voltron be staying long?” Another fighter asked, his eyes large behind thick pilot goggles. 

“Oh, well, that depends on some of our research.” Allura answered, glancing back at the debriefing table, where the formula papers and tablets for Pidge’s tracker were spread.  
  
“Surely you must return to the Galra capitol tonight.” Trusk interrupted, looking rather concerned. “Emperor Lotor should be expecting you.”  
  
“Oh, um, well,”  
  
“Yes! Surely!” Coran piped.  
  
“Coran, please!”  
  
“Why is that?” Olia asked.  
  
“Did you not hear of the engagement proposal?”   
  
Stars, this was not something she could seem to avoid, was it?  
  
The goggled pilot started jumping up and down. “Is that today? Is it the third quintent!?”  
  
Allura wondered if Pidge’s cloaking device could be used by a single person.

“Hey, Allura—”

She turned, thankful to see Lance and Keith pushing through the group and launching at them quickly, her hands gripping their wrists to drag them away around the table.  
  
“YES! Yes, what is it boys? Do you need something?” She glanced back only to watch Coran’s moustache wiggle at her with annoyance.  
  
“Whoa—”  
  
“Allura—?”

She let them go when they were a safe distance away. “Sorry. What seems to be the problem?”  
  
“No problem.” Keith answered first, straightening.  
  
“Uhm, No, _big_ problem!” Lance corrected, “There’s probes everywhere in here!”  
  
Probes? Allura frowned, looking around the deck. A few silver and purple remote droids were indeed, stationed around the room, their glowing centers dim but blinking. On. There had to be at least four.  
  
“It’s not a big deal!” Keith huffed, arms crossing and face sinking into his cowl. “It’s probably just leftover security from the crew that was stationed here before us.”  
  
“It’s Galra tech Keith. GAL-RA.”  
  
“So what! Then it’s security installed from us!”  
  
“There was no report of us installing security here!” Lance near followed Keith’s expression into the shadow of his hood before turning to her with a determined but dubious look. “Right Allura?”  
  
“Well… I don’t know.” She answered honestly, before following the table around to the log screens. “Why don’t we take a look.”

She pulled up the lists and the two earthlings followed her in earnest.

There wouldn’t be any reason to have probes on the outpost would there? Security, maybe. Perhaps because of the nature of the place, it being a new installation of both factions working together. Probes would be a good countermeasure to make sure nothing suspicious happened to either side.

“Allura, hey, Allura—”

But surely there was plenty of security cameras already installed here on the base? The Galra didn’t need their own, did they?

“Allura!”  
  
She looked up to see Hunk, bent over the other side of the table and pointing somewhere behind him.

“Hunk?”  
  
“Allura, he’s coming, okay? He’s coming—”  
  
“Who?” Keith asked.  
  
“What are you talking about, man?” Lance agreed, a hand sliding to his hip.  
  
“He’s—Him! He’s on his way! It’s happening! Allura—Lotor—” Hunk started bobbing up and down.  
  
Lotor.  
  
The main door to the deck whisked open as if it had been slammed, a crack vibrating the metal walls and silencing the crowded space into shocked expressions.

He looked, really, really, tall like that. Face dour and eyes slitted, he entered the room with no words and with a pace that made some soldiers move away quickly.  
  
“Lotor?” Shiro asked in an aloof tone, not noticing the freedom fighters beside him step behind his back with nervous glances.  
  
Lotor didn’t answer, staring straight ahead into the room, striding down the steps toward the debriefing table.

It wasn’t until Coran, Olia, Trusk and the others moved frantically away from his path that she realized he was looking at her.  
  
Oh.  
  
She stilled, her hands on the log panels frozen in the air as he narrowed his eyes and drew closer.  
  
“Lot—” His booted foot scaled the table in a second and cut off her question before it could even reach her lips. She watch Hunk shrink to the edge and look up, and did so as well, trailing up Lotor’s stature to continue holding his intense gaze.

What in the world..?  
  
“Uhm, what is happening?” Lance asked behind her.  
  
Above his head, a few of the probes detached from the ceiling and their purple beacons flashed as they lowered to seemingly scan the room. No—not probes. Recorders.  
  
And then Lotor pulled out a sword.  
  
“HEY!”

“OHMYGOSH!”  
  
There was a scuffle and she felt Lance pull at her arm even as Keith pushed her forward. Soldiers drew backward as freedom fighters scattered. Somewhere she heard a bayard flare open.  
  
“HARK!” Lotor yelled and silence permeated the air once more, aside from the wiz of a probe as it leveled with the tip of the Galra blade in his hand. “All will hear my words as admonitory! Your Emperor speaks his heart!”  
  
The room shrank. The hilt in his clawed grip twisted before it slammed into the table at his feet, bringing him to his knees and making the paper and tablets jump from the impact.  
  
Allura and the others jumped too, and suddenly Lotor’s eyes were level with hers, his lips peeling off his teeth and his white hair falling about his face like a curtain.  
  
_“Blue splendor, you are Ephemera_ ,”

Where did all the noise go? Why was it so hot? Had the oxygen gone out? She couldn’t breathe. Or maybe she was breathing too much.

He was so quiet, yet he was so loud.

The hand still on the hilt of the blade left it, leaving it stuck in the metal as it curled into his chest. He looked pained.  
_  
“What unreasonable fate, this era,  
As I sink into these depths, drink death, and sing pink.”_  
  
She can’t stop blinking. Her nose burns.  
  
He’s not blinking.

It’s still so quiet.  
  
His hand outstretches toward her and she realizes she has to take it.

She does, and is lifted all at once onto the table. And then they’re standing there, in the center of the room, above everyone. He smiles.

 _Oh._  

They— this was—  
  
Lotor rips the blade from the table and he swings it violently to their right and Allura’s hands grasp his shoulder, shocked, confused. His voice booms so loudly she can feel it through her fingers.  
  
“An oath is formed in blood and words! Might any who challenge it meet the wrath of my blade as it rips out your veins and paints the hearth of our union!”  
  
Allura cringes at the image, peering past his threatening form to look down at the room.  
  
The freedom fighters and her paladins look horrified.

All the Galra are grinning. 

Just as the silence seems oppressing, cheers encompass her ears.  
  
“VREPIT SA!”  
  
“Vrepit Sa! Emperor Lotor!”  
  
“The Prince Lotor and Princess Allura!”  
  
The soldiers are all clapping and soon the Coalition members begin following suit. It’s the small pilot who finally smiles “Congratulations!” He says.  
  
“C-Congratulations Princess!” Coran calls, eyes looking wide and scared but smile the ever perfect diplomat's.  
  
She feels her body relax immensely, and she releases Lotor’s shoulder to clasp at her chest.  
  
“Thank-thank you, everyone.”  
  
She feels like she’s gonna shake herself into a faint.  
  
“That was _fucking_ terrifying.”   
  
"Pidge!!" A few exclaim.

Lotor steps off the table before turning to reach for her and honestly, she’s happy to see the Prince has lost all the aggression in his expression. Still, looking at him at all doesn’t help her jittery nerves or the heat in her… well everything. 

She takes his hand all the same, the large claws closing around her fingers to help her off the table.  
  
“So that's it!? You're married!?” Lance is asking, pushing through the crowd, looking scared and confused.  
  
Lotor laughs, and once more she feels the power of his lungs through the hand still holding hers. “Not quite, paladin, but the promise has been made.” He looks down at her with such softness in his yellow eyes that she has to look away.  
  
“Congratulations.” Olia is saying, and Allura’s hands leave Lotor's to shake the woman's paw.  
  
“Thank you!”  
  
“Vrepit Sa!” Trusk says on her other side, grabbing Lotor’s hands. “I am honored to see our new Emperor give his oath Sir,”  
  
“I am glad to share it with all of you,”  
  
The crowd around the table gets tighter and tighter and they spend a lot of time there saying thanks and accepting congratulations. Most of the chatter about the mixed outpost is lost to questions about the union, the ceremony, and people recounting their reactions at witnessing the entire ordeal.  
  
It’s really, very, hard to steal away. But eventually, she’s able to do so, using Coran’s explanation of what an Altean engagement looks like to leave the main deck and find solace in a small dining hold.

Her back sinks against a cold wall and she shivers, closing her eyes. 

“Blue splendor.” She says quietly to herself.  
  
She doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but her thoughts are running so fast she feels like she might get whiplash.  
  
She should be relieved. After everything, this was it. The plan worked. Success! Right?  
  
Instead, she’s finding it hard to stop swallowing. Like there’s a large weight in her throat. And she can't stop shivering in this unbearable heat! It’s like she’d gotten sick—  
  
“Princess,”  
  
Her back leaves the wall and she straightens immediately, turning to see him enter the room.  
  
Lotor.  
  
“Yes? Sorry, I was about to head back.”

His hand rises to stop her from taking a step. “No, please.”  
  
She pauses and is rewarded with his delicate smile.

“Allow me to find this reprieve with you.”  
  
The tense air leaves her as she exhales. “Yes, of course.”  
  
“I should apologize,” His steps take him until his boots almost touch her own shoes, and she stares down at them to avoid showing how red her face might be. “I hadn’t meant to frighten you.”  
  
She has to look up then, even just to reassure him. “Oh, no! I wasn’t… I wasn’t frightened.”  
  
Lotor’s teeth gleam in his smirk.  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
“It was, perhaps, alarming.”  
  
“Then I'm sorry to alarm you.”  
  
She laughs then, it eases some of the static feelings in her skin.  
  
He chuckles and the sound rolls down her throat into her stomach.

 _Some of it._  
  
“I suppose no one told you how the acceptance Taal Selva is given,” He guessed, a white eyebrow perking.  
  
“Not at all, but I’m guessing it comes with a warning.”  
  
“Quite!” His hand reaches to her and his claw hovers beneath her elbow. Funny how that sensation was getting familiar. “Still, perhaps I should have warned you when I saw you this morning. I must admit that the details are escaping me in the process, so shocked that I’m even going through it.”

Her brows crease but she keeps her smile. “What do you mean?”  
  
Hopefully, he didn’t mean—  
  
“I had never imagined I would ever give my Oath let alone be asked for it.”

She frowns. “Why not?”

He looks surprised, shaking his head.  
  
“HEY!” They both turn to the open door to see Lance storm in, the rest of the paladins following.  
  
Lotor’s arm falls from hers.  
  
“You could have at least _told_ us you were going to pretend to threaten the entire galaxy!”  
  
The entire galaxy? Oh. The probes!  
  
“Galra tradition dictates I speak to no one about my acceptance, just as it also requires I warn any that might try to disagree with the union.”  
  
Shiro sighs, shaking his head. “I can respect the culture, but Lance is right, if not for Keith and the Blades, we might have started a fight back there.”  
  
“Forgive me,” Lotor’s chin lowers and the two meet some sort of understanding in their gaze. “I wanted to portray my acceptance in the most authentic way possible, so no one doubts its passion.”  
  
Portray. Authentic.  
  
Allura swallows.  
  
“You have to admit that it was kind of genius.” Pidge nods and when everyone turns to look at her she motions to Lotor. “The recordings. Now the entire Empire knows about it.”  
  
“No one will attack the Coalition now if they respect Lotor’s rule.” Keith’s voice breaks through the crowd.  
  
“And the pureblood factions would be foolish to try it either, knowing that the rest of my fleets will defend any Alliance members.” Lotor agrees.  
  
“Really?” Hunk questions. “It’s that easy?”  
  
“It will be easier once the ceremony concludes and Allura becomes Empress, but yes. Blood oaths are not to be taken lightly. Even between the two mates who make it, once made, one can never raise a hand in violence to the other.”  
  
This seems to stun everybody. Allura barely has time to get over hearing the word ‘Empress’ for the first time.  
  
“Really? That doesn’t sound very… Galra.”  
  
“I agree with Hunk,” Lance says, “That sounds like a big fat lie.”  
  
“It’s not.” Lotor’s brow lowers to challenge the paladin's. “Should Allura and I become enemies, or the Galra Empire decide on its own to fight her, no matter my position or my disagreement, I could never join the fray to harm her. My forces would be out an Emperor should they try it.”  
  
“Wow.” Pidge blinks. “This is way more convenient than I thought.”  
  
She has to agree. She had no idea that was the culture of a union, but it is, indeed, just one more benefit to add to the ever-growing list. Once again she had been so concerned over the process of the courtship she hadn’t given much thought what the after-effects would be, aside from her initial decision to do it.

“Am I the only one who thinks this is nuts?” Lance says, shoulders scrunched up and palms outstretched. “We’re basically just letting Allura be traded like a sack of potatoes for a flimsy promise at being friends?”  
  
“Potatoes?” Coran asks, coming into the room with a frown. “What did you call the Princess?”  
  
“It’s my duty Lance.” Allura tries. And she continues despite the unnerving feeling of having Lotor’s eyes on her. “I’ve been raised knowing that my life is nothing more but a service to my people. And the Coalition includes that.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“My people have been fighting this war since I was a child. I’ve lost my home to it, my family…”  
  
Coran shoots her a look of forlorn sympathy and the rest of the paladins follow suit.  
  
“Marriage in the sake of peace is the least I could do to bring happiness back to those who have lost sight of it. That alone is enough to fulfill me where love or a _chosen_ husband might otherwise.”  
  
Lance looks upset still.  
  
“But— he’s— him! He’s not good enough for you!”  
  
“Lance!” Pidge exclaims.  
  
“Relax!” Shiro demands.  
  
“He’s right there!” Hunk whispers.  
  
“You’re right Lance.”

Everyone’s head snaps to Lotor. 

The Prince closes his eyes before staring down the red paladin.  
  
“I could not think of anyone worthy enough to take the hand of the Princess of Altea, least of all the wretched, bastard son of the man who destroyed her homeworld.”  
  
“Lotor.” She says bleakly. She's speechless otherwise. He glances at her for only a moment.  
  
“Well!!” Lance grits his teeth, glaring and pointing, “Well you're not WRONG!”  
  
“Ugh.” Pidge groans.  
  
“No matter the case, I can only promise that while my Taal Selva served its purpose to convince my people of my passion, my words and actions to see the affair through will convince the rest of you that I want nothing more but the peace Allura speaks of.”  
  
She feels cold and distant and yet warm at the same time. As if the words reassure her but also… disappoint her. She really might be sick with something.

Her fingers play at the taleson chain on her wrist.  
  
“Thank you, Lotor.” Shiro nods. “Those are some words I think we can _all_ get behind.” The black paladin says it with a pointed look at Lance, who rolls his eyes but doesn’t retort. “So… congratulations, I guess.”  
  
Shiro’s hand reaches for Lotor’s, who takes it with some surprise in his own features.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Congrats Allura!” Hunk says and she’s caught in a hug she didn’t know was coming.  
  
“Oh! T-Thank you!"   
  
Pidge and Coran follow suit and through their warmth and laughing, she watches Keith and Lance shake the Galra Prince’s hand.  
  
Lotor.  
  
Her future husband.


	4. Indigo Orchid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to AriamJan for [drawing the proposal in chapter one!!!!](https://twitter.com/ariam_jan/status/1013675245973200896) IT'S AMAZING Please check it out!!

They didn’t get any frequency on Haggar’s flagship.  
  
Pidge and Hunk didn’t take long to get their tracker working, and once they did they made short time of locking onto the rest of the rogue Galra fleet, with help from Lotor. But while they did complete a list of coordinates for where those ships were stationed, Haggar’s wasn’t included.

Lotor deduced the use of cloaking similar to ones he’d apparently used during his time as Po Tem. As he put it, his former squadron had betrayed him and been taken under Haggar’s wing, so it was plausible.

In any case, he promised to help recreate the formulas in close tandem with Pidge and Hunk.

After helping the rest of the assigned soldiers settle into the outpost, everyone returned the to Galra capitol.

It was odd seeing the Castle dock like some sort of temporal, floating, Altean house onto the very contradicting spiky, purple, angry looking shapes of the center flagship and its interlocking city rings, but Allura supposed she should get used to it.

After that, much returned to the new normal.

Most of her time was spent in the Castle with Coran talking over points about Coalition needs, meeting with Shiro about any requests for Voltron, or sitting with Lotor in the survey room going back and forth about the treaty.

See? Normal.  
  
No marriage talk.  
  
No, really, there actually hadn’t been any. Lotor hadn’t brought up the issue once during their evenings and she was too busy with her own duties. And even if she had thought to seek him out during the day, from what she heard from Shiro, the Prince was truly busy with the green and yellow paladin, talking math, science, and tech.

Which was fine. It was almost relieving. Really.  
  
Aside from the new Altean chain about her wrist and smiles from Galra guards, nothing seemed to change much even in _two movements_.  
  
Well, not for _her._ _  
_ _  
_ “King Blate, if we could, I was contacting you about the borderlines your people wanted to place in your new sector.”  
  
“Will your Lotor be joining us?”  
  
“N-No,” Her smile thinned ignoring the odd grammar, hand expanding the camera on the Castle’s deck to show the ambassador it was only her and Coran on the call. “I’m afraid the Emperor is seeing to his own people, but I will of course relay all of your best interests. I can assure you that he means to meet any demands you would make of the Galra Empire to ensure your comf—”  
  
“Princess Allura—” A voice calls as a pale face comes into view, with painted lips and long lashes.  
  
“Oh, Princess Malcoti, I didn’t know—”  
  
“My father and I would like to request attendance to your ceremony!” The princess practically pushes her father King from view, his small beady eyes struggling to look over her shoulder.  
  
“O-Oh.” Allura glances at Coran, who shrugs.  
  
“Will it take place in the Galra’s homeworld? Or could the castle travel to Krellia? We have fine weather here and much space for Lotor’s soldiers.”  
  
She has to intake the amount of information at lightning speed. The Krellians want to host Galra soldiers? After what they’d been through? No, that was, not—probable.  
  
“We—haven’t—”  
  
“Malcoti—” The king scuffles, pushing her puff sleeves from view to glower at the screen. “Malcoti forgets herself.”  
  
Allura sighs. Right.  
  
“We would, of course, would be honored by a simple invitation,” He amends, before squirming, “But yes, our people _do_ hold a fine feast, as your paladins know. I’m sure the Galra would also enjoy what we brew for them.”

Allura and Coran can’t do much but stare.

“Think on it Princess Allura! Please! And communicate any invite!” Malcoti chimes.

The signal closes.

It’s quiet on the deck of the Castle.  
  
“What about the border lines? Their conditions for territory and peace?” She asks, hands rising to gesture at the empty screens.  
  
Coran shrugs, shaking his head. “They seem peaceful enough already!”  
  
“Argh!!” Her hands delve into her hair and she nearly shakes it loose from its ties. “This is terrible! Every conversation turns to mush!”  
  
Coran steps up to the platform, leaning past the screens to give her a sympathetic look. “To be fair Princess, this was exactly what we were hoping for with the proposal.”  
  
“Yes, for trust to _continue_ talks forward—not to stall them completely. Diplomacy doesn’t work without the papers, the rules, the—” She finds herself looking at the empty screen again with a sad expression.  
  
“Politics are indeed the key to creating unified worlds.” Coran nods, but his hand goes to her shoulder in a gentle reassurance. “But you need to remember that even politicians are just people. And you’ve given them something else to focus on than war.”  
  
“I’m happy for that, Coran, really I am,” She sighs. “But some, _some,_ focus should be one the future too, shouldn’t it?”

“Well…. Yes.” He relents, and his hand rubs his mustache. “But perhaps everyone needs a celebration before they can sit around and talk. Every good war needs a happy ending, right?”  
  
Allura’s face scrunches in distaste as he pumps his arm. He falters.  
  
“That came out wrong. You know what I meant!”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“You should talk to Lotor about setting a date for the wedding.”  
  
“Me? But I—there are other things more important at hand then something so… silly.”  
  
“Silly?” Coran actually looks surprised at the words. “It might seem odd to a princess groomed for the idea, but to everyone else, you and Lotor are the symbol of an impossible truce! Just like you wanted.”  
  
Allura’s hands pull at her hair at the words, turning them over as she did her curl and trying not to feel… shy. “Yes, but even he would agree that it’s… not worth a fuss.”

“If he’s keen enough to present you with a Taleson chain he’s keen enough to get hitched as soon as possible.” Coran sniffs, crossing his arms.  
  
Allura glares, releasing her hair and hands stiffening at her sides. “Oh, let it go!”  
  
“You could have at least told me! One of the most important events in a Princess’s life and you get it from a Galra in some shadowy corner—”  
  
“Coran!” She scolds.  
  
“Princess Allura.”  
  
Lotor’s voice shakes through the deck of the Castle at the same time the bright blue of the screens flashes over their faces.

They jump, jerking their attention to the sudden open communication and the large-scale face of the Galra Emperor.

“L-Lotor.” She says and winces. No honorifics, no greeting. And bad timing! Her face heats under that cool yellow gaze and she tries to swallow all thoughts of him and what she and Coran had just been speaking about.  
  
“Number 5!” Coran says.

And indeed, Pidge is there, standing beside the man and looking quite small. Her head is floating in the corner and she waves a bit awkwardly in the space between Lotor’s shoulder and hip. “Hey, guys!”  
  
“I hope we are not interrupting your conference, I know you must be in the thick of negotiations.”  
  
He’s always so polite. It’s infuriating. Allura straightens her back and then sets her expression, reminding herself _she’s_ the one who's supposed to lead by example. For goodness sake, he was the Galra leader, and she was the Altean. She could out polite anyone!  

“Why, I always have time for Lotor—you, your—Emperor.” Oh, stars. What happened there? “C-can we help with something?”  
  
His expression flickers, lips parting, then closing.

And then he just stares.  
  
She can see Coran’s face turn toward her in her peripheral vision.

Awful. Just horrendous.  
  
Pidge eyes Lotor beside her before humming through the weird silence.  
  
“Uhhhhhh yeah, actually. We’ve been working on tracking devices and almost came to a roadblock, but then started talking about converters. Most of the probes and drones here are similar to Rover, and Lotor says the bulk of them are manufactured here in the capitol. So, we got to thinking—”  
  
Allura has a hard time listening and watching Pidge, even with the paladin's arms making funny gestures because she kept looking back at Lotor. Funny, he hadn’t stopped staring at her. But that was normal right? People stared at people they were talking to? Right?

Pidge was the one speaking though.  
  
“—which would mean we could program the base matrixes to not only detect any source of signal jam, but they could be signal jams themselves. And in turn, it would probably be a good idea in general just to change the hardware now that the Empire’s had a change in head. Sort of like changing your password for every website.”  
  
“Website?” Coran asked.  
  
Allura frowned but still nodded. Albeit slowly. “Right, yes Pidge... “  
  
The green paladin’s excited smile went flat.  
  
“Your paladin’s expertise outweighs even mine in this aspect.” Lotor finally says, and simply smiles at Pidge before turning that smile to Allura. He chuckles in empathy.  
  
Her instinct screams at her to turn off the comm.  
  
“My Princess, would you be so inclined as to escort her to the engineering facility here on the flagship, so that she may find the means she needs to continue work?”  
_  
_ _My Princess. My Princess. My Princess._ _  
_  
“I’m sorry?”

She was hot again. Why was she always hot? She couldn’t blame it on the Galra ship this time, they were on the Castle.  
  
“I can have a sentry lead the way for you both, but I’m afraid I have other engagements to attend to. And while the defenders of Voltron are our honored guests, I can not guarantee everyone on my ship will be happy to see a paladin simply wandering around. Let alone willing to aid them.”  
  
Allura gives him a perked brow and a dubious smile. “What makes you think they’ll be happy to see me either?”   
  
His expression eases like it’s obvious.  
  
“You are my betrothed. Your mere presence means mine as well, as mates are with each other, always.”  
  
_Oh._

“Anyone who dares raise a hand to you in so doing commits treason against me.”  
  
“Right.” She shakes her head, harshly, as if to avoid him seeing the tint in her skin or the damp sweat forming at her neck. “Of course, I forget—”  
  
“No, forgive me.” He stops her, hand raised like her could reach her. The action makes Pidge lean backward. “I should not assume so easily you would understand the Galra ways.”  
  
“Really, you're kind, but it’s my responsibility to learn,” She smiles weakly, looking up through her shaded lashes to his insistent face. “It’s about time anyway, with us working so... closely now.”

“Allura, I do not expect that of you,” His brows narrow, but his mouth is slack enough she can see his teeth as he leans in, hand to his chest. “It’s your comfort that I prioritize, not your etiquette.”  
  
Her hand lifts to press at the side of her mouth as if to stop her smirk. “What a noble way to say you don’t mind my ignorance!” She almost giggles. It’s hard not to.  
  
Lotor near smirks, but it’s weak in his still concerned expression. “Not at all, Princess, my words—”  
  
“OKAY COOL! I’ll see Allura at the bay exit, right Coran!?” Pidge shouts up to the screen.  
  
“Right-O Number 5! Over and out!” Coran agrees, his hand whizzing past Allura’s face to slam on the panel.  
  
Allura only has a tick to glimpse the first embarrassed expression she’d ever seen on Lotor’s face before the signal dies out.  
  
Coran’s slowly turns back to her, his mouth so low his mustache hides it completely. Brows tight.  
  
Allura hides her cheeks in her hands in case they’re red, blinking fast and feeling weak in her knees.  
  
“Talk to him, Princess.”  
  
“Yes, alright!”

* * *

 

Pidge doesn’t mention the call.

It’s a reliable change of pace, the paladin’s company. Pidge isn’t one to needle or nosey her way into other’s personal business. She’s cool-headed most of the time and prioritizes the technical over the emotional. And Allura couldn’t be more thankful.

Really.  
  
“S-so… you and Hunk have been… working with Lotor?” She asks, using the transition from their bland hallways into a grav-lift to broach the topic. She tries to sound nonchalant, but by the wary slide of Pidge’s gaze beneath her brows, her voice is probably much too high and squeaky. “H-How’s that going?”  
  
“It’s going okay.”  
  
“Okay! Okay is good! That’s good!”  
  
The metal doors slide around the lift and they wait patiently with their silent Galra sentry droid.  
  
“He’s… been very helpful.”  
  
Allura turns to catch Pidge push her glasses against her ears, moving them to ease the area. She’s not looking at her, but she continues. “I guess that’s not surprising now. I know we were all pretty distrustful at first, but yeah, he’s helpful. He’s let me and Hunk take the reins on the project and keeps mentioning having us retrofit other aspects of the Empire.”  
  
“The flagship?”

Pidge looks up at her. “The whole capital.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“He’s not a programmer, but he seems to understand our ideas even if he doesn’t follow the codes. He did have an excellent basis for tracker detection though. Maybe too good. That’s why we’re a little stuck.”  
  
“Right.” Allura nodded slowly. “So he’s… friendly.”

“Yeah, you could say so. He’s showed me some of the more intricate Galra user interfaces and they are… pretty advanced. I was surprised he let me see the backend. Plus he’s been teaching Hunk some Galra words.”

“What? Really?”  
  
“Yep! Like _fas lok per_ _rasterrun_.” Pidge recites the words with a mocked serious expression and a deeper voice. Her fingers grip the air as if they’re claws.  
  
“What does that mean?”

Pidge pauses. “Oh, uh…” She gives a chagrined smile. “I can’t remember if that’s ‘I see and understand,’ or ‘please don’t stab me.’”  
  
She laughed, she couldn’t help herself.  
  
“Hunk was the one asking! I barely got a hold on the little Altean I know now.”  
  
“Fair enough. I guess I should expect no less from—”  
  
The lift rattled and the walls flashed before disappearing altogether. Light fills the space around then before fading into a vast landscape that had them both speechless, stepping backward as not to fall.  
  
“OH!”  
  
“Quiznak!!”  
  
But the metal hadn’t gone, just given away to a crystal clear viewport that looked down over the central expanse of the flagship.  
  
“W-Whoa—that’s—”  
  
“This is…”

They both approached the edge, peering down their moving platform to see the hub of people, soldiers— Galra, milling through the several levels of the ship.  
  
“Is this the main docking bay?”  
  
“I don’t see any ships, oh no, some at the very bottom see?”  
  
“What are all these other levels?”  
  
“I don’t know. Arsenal? Oh, look! Drones!”  
  
There was simply too much to look at. The ship was alive, busy, brimming even. And while it was no brighter than the indigo and orchid aura most Galra ships seemed to emanate, there was no lack of activity.  
  
“I guess I sort of forgot how big of a ship we were on,” Pidge noted.  
  
Allura had to agree. Since arriving at Lotor’s invitation, they had really only been stationed in the bulkhead, the central command, the royal quarters and guest rooms. And by comparison to what they were seeing, it was almost laughable.

In fact, it was almost ridiculous how crowded the Galra capitol would _obviously_ be. Only a year before the war had started, Daibazaal had been destroyed. With no surface planet to call home, their people would have to thrive and live in space, wouldn’t they?  
  
And she had been asleep for ten thousand years.

Allura felt a bit small, her fingers clenching the viewport as they leaned on it, feeling a little shaky.  
  
“Huh, that looks like a dining hall. And a recreation center?”  
  
“It’s a city,” Allura answered, even as the realization of it all came to her in small waves. “It’s going to have to provide more to its residents than just military amenities.”  
  
The lift took them almost clear across the center hub, where pillars of architecture and light cut through the ship to hold various different decks, populated with sentries or armored Galra, and even regular civilians.  
  
Eventually, the lift stopped, before spiraling downward, shadows of passing levels casting their windows in shifting darkness, and just when Allura thought they couldn’t get any deeper they stopped. The metal casing encircled their lift once more and the doors whizzed open. “Emperor Lo—”  
  
Pidge and Allura looked a little shocked at the standing guard, his bow pausing halfway as he met them with an equally puzzled expression.  
  
“Uh, hi.” Pidge waved.  
  
Their sentry began walking forward, passing the guard completely.

“Emperor Lotor has bid us entry to the engineering facility,” Allura informed, making sure not to lose her authority to quickly, even if she herself was a bit lost.  
  
The mouth on the guard snapped shut, and he continued his bow. “Vrepit sa, Princess.”  
  
There was something… very, utterly strange at hearing the Galra hail directed at her. She couldn’t help the shiver in her spine or the fall in her expression for it. But the man didn’t stop them, statuesque as he was, so they continued to follow their sentry out of the hallway.

“I hope we’re in the right place.” She said, looking over her shoulder as they continued on.  
  
“Seem to be.” Pidge shrugged. “Lotor must have his own private transport channels.”  
  
Well, that would make the most sense, wouldn’t it?  
  
Allura had always thought that the Castle itself was large, with its endless channels and different sections to house something as intricate as five lions to one Voltron. But it was nothing compared to even one Galra flagship.

But again, what would you expect of a military-focused space-faring nation with centuries and centuries to adapt and well… prosper?  
  
And oh, they had prospered.  
  
The hallways soon opened up to reveal they were indeed on one of the deck levels and it showed in the growing number of people beginning to pass them by.

Most were armored, but some weren’t. Women, men, and other indistinguishable Galra milled about their business. Or they did until they seemed to spot the two of them, then they stopped and stared unabashedly.

“Alright, I can kinda see his worry about sending me down here alone,” Pidge whispered, suddenly much closer to Allura’s side.

Yellow-eyed looks seemed to come from everywhere.

“I can’t see why he thought I’d help though.” She whispered back. “Most of them just look angry.”  
  
“Well, they aren’t attacking?”

“That’s true.”  
  
They weren’t exactly glaring either, perhaps they simply looked that way to her because of all the scarred visages and the very large fangs. Maybe it was that Galra just… naturally seemed more intimidating at first glance.

In fact, most just looked confused. Shocked? Scared?  
  
It was hard not to look back at them either. Especially when some started whispering and pointing. Despite that, they didn’t meet any confrontation, at least not until the sentry led them to the engineering facility and the door whisked open.

The offices held rows and rows of open labs in the main deck, and a handful of closed off rooms on either side. They knew this because as soon as their sentry stepped aside, the entire room and all its occupants froze to turn at the door and stare.

The girls straightened.  
  
“Uh, hi.” Pidge tried once again.

No one replied.

“Pidge… are you sure this is the right place?”  
  
“How am I supposed to know?” the paladin whispered angrily, and they both turned to glare at their unresponsive sentry.  
  
“Princess Allura!!” A voice broke and they watched as a Galra woman in a long coat broke through the back line of laboratory workbenches, waving a large clawed hand and a fizzling holo-pad. “Princess Allura, we’re honor—”

The Galra woman near tripped over a fellow scientist, long fins from her head whipping about as she gained her footing and continued forward.

Pidge and Allura tried not to eye each other warily.  
  
“We are—” The woman breathed on her knees, “so honored—” She inhaled, standing straight. “To have you and your paladin here. Emperor Lotor told us to expect you.”  
  
The words couldn’t be more relaxing.  
  
“Oh good.”  
  
“Sure, yep, that’s us.”

Morga, as they were informed, was the head of engineering as well as the flagships technician designer. She was extremely tall, but a little thinner then most of the Galra they’d come across, but no less intimidating with her aggressive arms and wide mouth.  
  
“We were so excited to have you, Princess, please, might we give you a tour, we could show you the new tactical missiles? Or perhaps you’d like to see our cyclo-engine?” Morga pressed, and it was not lost on Allura the tablet she was being shown was upside down.  
  
Okay, maybe a little less intimidating than most.  
  
“Thank you, but it’s my paladin, Pidge, who's seeking information.”  
  
Morga looked down, and her furred brows lifted. “And which lion do you pilot, paladin?”  
  
Pidge subconsciously glanced at her armor before looking back at all the still-staring Galra around them. “Uh... the… green one.”  
  
“Wonderful!”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Allura hid a smile in her hands.  
  
“Then please, right this way, please, anything for Princess Allura.”

They were escorted through the workstations, where most of the Galra moved aside from them, bowing or just grinning widely in obvious and ignorant excitement. Pidge was rapid fire almost as soon as they crossed some of the tech being worked on in plain sight and it didn’t really take much before Morga was drawn in as well.  
  
“Oh, you must mean to re-purpose sonar frequencies—”  
  
“This is more about detecting  _another_ detector.”  
  
“We do have geological equipment for scanning for security systems on foreign planets. But it uses the surface area.”  
  
“That might work! But it would need to be retrofit to use the surface area of the stars around it to work in space.”  
  
“Interesting!”

It was all quiznazzle to Allura, but she smiled anyway, watching the lean Galra scientist almost bend her knees to the ground to level her gaze at Pidge, excitedly discussing tech.

It was funny.

She wondered what her father would think.  
  
She never thought she’d live to the day that she could be at ease, even just a smidge comfortable really, in a room full of Galra. Let alone living temporarily in their capital and watching an earthling friend discover new sciences from them.

Or be betrothed to one of them.

Almost forgot about that one.

She kept mostly to herself, tagging along at a distance behind the two mathematicians. When she did happen to cross eyes with some of the other scientists she did her best to give them a smile and a small wave, practicing her best court demeanor. Most either quickly looked back to their work in embarrassment, or returned the wave and smile tenfold.

She wasn’t sure how long it was until Pidge was settled, arms full off drone equipment and a stack of holo tablets, but she had to be nudged from daydreaming into an energy cell when it was time.

“Oh, got everything?”

“Allura your not going to believe the amount of stuff they’re working on. It's incredible!”

It was always heartwarming to see Pidge's excitement, even if she didn't understand it. Morga seemed to share the enthusiasm though.

“Pidge the green is welcome back to our labs anytime she may wish.” Morga declared, a clawed hand patting the paladin's shoulder. “We might even actually get more work done with her around than without! Ha!” The Galra snorted loud and the sound rolled into something more like a funny growl.

Pidge was smiling but Allura looked a bit aghast at the noise.

Morga caught the expression and struggled, “Oh no, not that we aren’t working hard, Princess, no, just a joke, we are making large headway—”

“Why—why would I mind?!” Allura asked, waving her hands to stop the desperate plea.

Pidge cleared her throat loudly. “Allura and Emperor Lotor. As he is _here_ . With his mate. _Always_. Don’t mind—”

Allura caught on, sweating. “Right! Of course, Morga, please, The Emperor and I are nothing but… we are proud! Proud to have you leading the team. Down here that is.”

Morga’s yellow eyes were large and glowing, as were teeth as she practically beamed under the praise. “Oh!! Wonderful!! Just Wonderful!”

She sighed mentally and so did Pidge, the younger girl shifting her drone parts in her arms.

Morga volunteered to escort them back to the lift, which was indeed for private use to the emperor and proved much more vibrant company than their sentry.

“Most of this deck is technical. The data gatherers are on this level, and some financial bureaus too.” Galra financial bureaus. It was so mundane Allura didn’t think it serious at first.

She might have been… assuming too much of the Galra until now.

“This flagship really is a marvel.” Pidge complimented.

“It is a privilege to work in the capital, yes, but hopefully you will be able to visit the homesteads on H1 and 2.”

Allura and Pidge glanced at each other.

“Do you mean the rings orbiting the ship's center?” Allura guessed.

“Of course. That is where most of the Galra civilians stay. My mate and children live on H1.”

“Neat.” Pidge smiled.

Allura was feeling impossibly smaller.

She knew the Galra Empire had been immense since waking up to it. They had conquered almost every edge of space at this point. But to hear about it like this…?

“I… forgive me, Princess,” Morga paused, her claws grasped at her coat nervously before her yellows eyes narrowed. Allura blinked at her. “I, I must ask.”

“Y-yes?”

Oh please no surprises.

“Will… will the royal ceremony be here in the Capitol? Or will it be on H1? Or H2? I know Lotor spent time on H2—”

Wedding. Wedding talk.

Allura flushed.

It was everywhere.

“I’m—we aren't decided.”

“It is beautiful there. When the sector general set fire to our oaths during my ceremony it was bathed in moonlight from the open atmosphere.” 

“Fire?” Pidge’s tone went up.

“That sounds… delightful.” Allura nodded.

Morga was lost to her excitement, her claws clinging to her breast. “Of course, my mate is no talker. Not like the Emperor. _His_ Taal Selva was so romantic.”

“Romantic?” Pidge’s tone fell.

Stars it was so hot again. She wasn't even the one holding anything and she felt weak the knees.

“Y..you saw that?” Allura asked.

Morga blinked. “Everyone did. They broadcasted to the center screens as an official announcement. It’s been replayed every half quintet since.”

“It has!?” It was Allura’s turn to pitch her voice into a high squeak

“And what grace!” Morga's arms mimic a sword. The girls step out of the way as she pretends to fence the air. “We knew Lotor to be a great fighter. But we have never seen him so Galra! So passionate! The bloodthirst was obvious in his love!”

Neither of them can respond to that so they don’t.

Morga is already moving on, though. “Oh! Princess, what will you wear? Will you adorn armor? The Galra style? Or do Alteans dress in the weak flowery things of dresses and beads? Will it be pinks and whites or will you wear Galra colors?”

“Oh! Ahm, well, we, don't, it—depends.” Allura looks to Pidge for help but gets nothing but a cringed expression.

Honestly? What colors would she wear? _That_ was the concern?

“You’re a fool and so is this ridiculous marriage.”

The voice comes from behind them, and they turn to find a Galra stalking forward, having overheard. He’s massive, and his head is a clean grey, but he wears no armor, just dressed down wrappings of purple and black.

Morga straightens, her large claws falling almost in embarrassment.

“If you can not see that this union is nothing more than a ploy to weaken our Empire to submission then you are a pathetic excuse for a Galra.”

“Hey!!” Pidge exclaims, stepping before Morga. “You can’t talk to her that way!”

“Pidge, no!” Allura warns.

“The Alteans were broken fairies at best, and that is the blood running in Lotor's veins. That is the blood he will create from this mating.”  
  
She freezes and suddenly her hands are fisted and her are ears hot for another reason.  
  
“How dare you!”

“Are you challenging his oath with this insult?” Morga asks and Allura and Pidge have to look up to see her suddenly angry face looming above them.

“It's not a real oath!” The man argues, and he’s stepped so close now they have to step backward. His face is angry, but he almost looks bothered by Morga’s disagreement. His move to her as if to make her see reason. “He is no Galra! And even if he was Zarkon himself, it would still be an obvious trick to ever align with these pests! They mean to drink us dry of our resources. To placate us into whimpering pups with no claws!”

He motions to Pidge and Allura and they both tense, knees bending.

“You speak to Lotor himself by talking to his mate this way!” Morga warns and he voice is much lower then they’ve heard before.

“So be it! I do not see him here.” He looks around with a spitting laugh and that's when Allura notices that while he’s right, Lotor was not nearby, a lot of other Galra were.

And they were watching raptly.  
  
This was… very bad.

“If you're so tough, why don’t you prove it?!”

“Pidge!” Allura admonishes, very much aware of the weight in the air around them. It's heavy. The last thing she wants to do is start a brawl in the middle of Lotor’s flagship.

Not that she's sure how Pidge will, with her arms full of random tech.

“Want me to put you in your place?” The man steps forward, but he steps to Allura. “I can easily show where the weakness lies in Lotor’s rule.”

She glares, lowering in case she needs to leap. He might be larger than her, but she would be much faster. And even with a crowd, there's plenty of room to move around.

Air sweeps past her face as Morga lunges forward, knees colliding with the man’s stomach.

They smash into the ground with a clatter and Allura backs up immediately into Pidge.

“Oh, Quiznak!”  
  
“Morga!”

There's a sickening sound of repeated punches and the two Galra wrestle as the crowd around them begin to shout.

But it's fast. Claws and tails whipping about until Morga is standing, her booted foot smacking the man’s face into the floor.

“None will insult our Emperor! Release!” She demanded, her voice deep and her head tails looking more aggressive than ever. She doesn’t seem as lanky or small as she had in her labs.

The man struggles a bit as the shouting roars, his claws scrabbling on her shoes.

“Kill me then!!” He yells up at her.

“No, stop!” Allura begs. She couldn’t handle that. Not like this.

“No!!” Morga yells. It's loud enough to quiet their audience too. “Victory or death is the old way! Lotor demands your submission!”

“Submit!!” Someone yells. The call echoes around them.

He struggles only a moment more before tapping the floor with a weak hand. Morga releases him, standing before Pidge and Allura once more as he falls backward, coughing.

“You lose! And not even to who you challenged! You are the pathetic one!”

 _Vrepit sa_ is heard in the crowd. The male Galra on the floor doesn't look pleased as he catches his breath. His ear is bleeding.

But he stays on his knees and his hand goes to his chest. Fisted.

Allura is frozen.

“Face your treason!” Morga demands, moving aside so he may look up at them.

Pidge looks to her, just as concerned.

“Th-there is no need for this.” She says, raising her hands.

He looks up at her slowly and she isn’t sure if she should look away.

“Vrepit sa, Lotor. Vrepit sa Princess Allura.” He says it under his breath.

She can’t reply. It's too baffling. And it's too loud to reply anyway. The crowd won’t stop whistling and cheering. _Vrepit sa._

“Forgive this grievance Princess, please,” Morga’s awkward, wide smile comes back for only a moment. “See yourself to the lifts, I will take care of the rest.”  
  
“We can’t just leave.” Allura shakes her head.

“But—” Pidge tries.

“Be back soon, paladin,” Morga says with a wave. And it's so abnormally casual despite her mussed labcoat and the kneeling man behind her that they can't do much more than step away slowly.

“Thank you,” Allura says. It's the only thing she can think of.

They leave as quickly yet cooly as they can.

They even leave the sentry behind, just to close the lift faster.  

 


	5. White Pink

The lift is unbearably quiet. Lights flick past levels as the city whizzes by.  
  
“Here, let me help carry some of that.”  
  
“Oh, thanks.”

Allura takes the stacks of tablets, relieving the paladin. 

It’s quiet again.

They eye each other. 

“Well, that was weird.”  
  
“Quite sudden!”

They laugh awkwardly and the air eases a bit.

Pidge gives her a reproachful look.

“Do you… want me to tell Lotor…”  
  
“I—No.” Allura steels her expression. “Let me speak with him, it should be my responsibility.”

Pidge looks all the more relieved to hear it and doesn’t argue for the task. 

“It’s about time we sit down together… it seems there’s much to discuss.” Allura says, shifting the tablets and turning to look out the viewport. She casts her eyes downward at the number of people living and working every tick that goes by. “I wasn’t aware so many would be so concerned with the details of this union.”

She sighs, eyes closing. “Even the Galra. It’s surprising. We were just on the edge of a war and the only conversation anyone wants to have is what I will wear at the ceremony.”  
  
She doesn’t expect Pidge to respond to the topic, so when she does, she looks down at the girl in surprise.  
  
“Well, it’s the same way on Earth.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Weddings. The proposal, the bridal shower, the bachelorette party.” Pidge lists, Her free hand counting off her fingers. “What you’re gonna wear, where it’s gonna be, who's gonna be there, what colors are the flowers, whose the maid of honor—girls are kinda obsessed about it.”  
  
“What’s a maid of honor?” Allura questions. Not really certain what most of the terms were but tackling one at a time.

“It’s the girl who… stands… closest?” Pidge shrugs self consciously. “To be honest, I’m not really sure what the difference is or what they’re supposed to do. My mom would talk to me about all the stuff but I’m not… well, I’m not most girls. On Earth, they would dream about their wedding day, and all the colors and what dress they would wear and blah, blah, blah. It’s a big deal.”

Allura’s eyes slide away. “I see.”  
  
Pidge pauses. “But you’re a Princess. And they have weddings in Altea. You never thought about it?”

Allura flushes and tries not to look at the chain on her wrist. She does anyway. 

“Maybe as a child, once or twice.” She admitted, thinking of drawings of ribbons and dresses she’d done in corners of her father’s research.  “But I always knew my betrothed would be chosen for me, and assumably Altean. Then with the war… such daydreams were a waste of time.”  
  
Pidge’s lips pursed, looking sympathetic but obviously not certain what to stay.  
  
“It’s not something I mourned.” Allura clarified. “And, now _I am_ getting married.”  
  
Saying it out loud sort of makes the fact sink into her skin, like warm water. It’s almost odd in contrast to how nervously cold she is.  
  
“I’m getting married.” She repeats.  
  
“Yeaaaaaah.” Pidge drawls.  
  
“Oh. Stars. I am.” She realizes, looking down at the paladin.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Oh goodness.”  
  
“I’m sure, it’s all gonna be fine. And hey, now _you do_ get to think about all that stuff.” Pidge tries to relieve her. “That should be fun, right?”  
  
“Fun, yes.” Allura nods, but her mind is working a bit faster than her words and it’s not with excitement, but worry.  
  
Quiznak, what _was_ she going to wear?

 

* * *

 

She means to head to him immediately. The altercation involved him and his rule if she were the one hosting guests in her home she would want to know. And it would be better for him to find out from her first than anyone else. It’s also a reasonable excuse to talk about the wedding.

And really, she was halfway there, just a couple halls away when she stopped and turned around, hurrying back the way she came.

And she’s _going_ to go. As soon as possible, immediately even.

Right after she makes a stop at the castle to change.

Allura smacked the fabric along her knees to straighten out the dress, frowning at it.

It’s been a while since she’d pulled out anything from her closet that wasn’t her flight suit or her paladin armor, longer still that it wasn’t her day dress or her nightgown. 

Honestly, if they were going to be staying on the Galra ship as long as they were, they might need some new clothes. She had some from their stay with the Olkari, but in her mind, the beige loose wraps might appear too informal. Or risque.

The Altean one she’s tried on now was once her mother's, and it’s a little… glamorous. But perhaps that’s the attitude needed. They’re in the middle of diplomacy talks in times of war. A show of authority might be exactly the presentation she should be portraying. And… this was marriage talk. With an Emperor.  
  
Right?

She rotates in the mirror a few times, staring at the bottom wrinkles before catching her own gaze. It feels ten thousand years old, even if it still fits perfectly. 

This was ridiculous.

Her hands drop immediately and the stirring uneasiness in her stomach churns into full-blown self-judgment. She was being ridiculous.

“Just go.” She whispers to herself, shoving the closet closed and pointedly ignoring the mirror, heading towards her door. 

He didn’t care about how she looked, and neither had she up until now. What did it matter what he saw her dressed in or how her hair—  
  
_Her hair_. Her hands rose, delving into the locks. Oh. Maybe she should—  
  
Allura hurried back to the mirror, this time leaning into the vanity to peer at her face with more scrutiny. She reached up quickly to release her bun, letting the locks fall before catching them at her shoulders. Wait, no. Maybe showing her neck was more formal. Regal? Or— her hand fell and the curls dropped down again. Maybe more _casual_ was beneficial? Would he appreciate the show of comfort? Would he—  
  
Oh, stars.  
  
Her hands collapsed on the vanity desk, her head falling.

What was she doing?

“And now you're wearing an Altean anointing-dress with your hair down.” She scolded.

Rolling her eyes she left the vanity completely and headed to the door.

Honestly, the sooner she got it over with the better. Formal or not, the most important part was the discussion. This wasn’t court life anymore, this was two leaders deciding the fate of their people.

Allura strode out the door with purpose and nearly smashed right into him.  
  
“Lotor!”  
  
“A—”

She had to take a few steps back to take in the full sight of him, tall as he was. 

His yellow eyes lowered, even as the raised fist didn’t, frozen mid-knock.  
  
“Apologies, I wanted—”  
  
“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

They stopped. His hand fell to his side.  
  
“I was about to—”  
  
“Funny, I had plan—”  
  
Allura snapped her mouth shut with a cringe.  
  
But Lotor was smiling warily. “Forgive me. We seemed to have startled each other.”  
  
“I was just on my way to see you.” She admitted.

His brow rose. “You were?”  
  
“Yes, are— you—” She paused, eyeing the room.

Her room.  
  
And then it was apparent he was still standing at the threshold of her bedroom aboard the Castle. The contrast was almost palpable. His deep clothes and black tails a stark contrast to the whites and blues of her walls, or the softness of the drapery in comparison to the sharpness of his armor.  
  
He was looking around now too, over her head, maybe even because she had done so, and seemed to catch the wrong idea.  
  
“I don’t mean to intrude.” He began. “Perhaps we could speak somewhere—”  
  
“No please, come in.”  
  
She stepped aside to let him pass, but when the doors whisked closed she suddenly realized what a horrible mistake that was. There wasn’t anywhere to sit that wasn’t her one vanity chair or her bed.  
  
This was going splendidly, wasn’t it?

Lotor didn’t mention anything, taking a few steps, eyes tracing the walls before his hands clasped behind his back and he turned to her quietly. 

She could hear her governess screaming somewhere in the back of her head that a man was in the room without a chaperone. She could hear her etiquette teacher snapping about being a dreadful host for making her guest stand.  
  
She went with the voice of her father instead and straightened.  
  
“I wanted to talk to you about something that happened down on the engineering level.”

“Then we are in the same mind.”

It’s her turn to look surprised.

His brows lower and he looks more serious now than when she’d nearly walked into him. 

“I was informed some time ago by security that you and Pidge had been sidelined by a disgruntled civilian of mine. And subsequently challenged.”  
  
“Yes, but we weren’t drawn to anything rash.”  
  
“Rash?” He looks taken aback by the word before turning dour once more. “It’s my understanding that my engineering lead upheld the throne's honor, but should it have come down to it, it would not be _rash_ for you to have put the man in his place.”  
  
“Well, I would have defended myself.” She tried to wave it off, literally and in the lighter tone of her voice. “But I can’t say that I’m not thankful I didn’t have to.”  
  
“I’m glad to hear it. And in any case, I want you to know that the matter was properly dealt with.”  
  
He sounds… biting. Even his expression is somewhat tight. And Allura’s next words are slower.  
  
“What is that supposed to mean?” Blunt. But still. “Morga forced him to submit.”  
  
“So she did. And then I issued his ban from the capitol flagship.”

“What?” She steps toward him, and he has to step back to keep their distance. “Why would you do that? He relented!”

“Relented?” He shook his head. “He made a challenge and failed.”  
  
“Is it not the Galra tradition that he has a right to do so?”  
  
Lotor’s eyes narrowed to an almost impossible thinness. “It is the Galra tradition that he be executed.”  
  
Her mouth shuts and she tilts her chin down to meet his gaze, feeling put out but not knowing how to argue against, well, _that._

“Now, I know that can’t be what you want. It isn’t what I want either.” His hands leave his back to fist at his sides. “But I can not ignore the slight. It makes me seem like the peace faring weakling they think I am. They already have to deal with the drastic change in their ten-thousand-year-old culture from victory over death to humiliation over death, if I don’t at least assign out punishments the entire Empire will revolt."

“But...” But it’s hard to say much other then she doesn’t like it. And she really doesn’t. She stares at his boots on her floor.  
  
“Princess, I know this isn’t something you’re used to. But it is the way my people work.” She watches his shoes move closer. His tone lowers. “You must trust that I want to make progress, but I have to do it carefully. Gradually.”

Allura wanted to hold fast to her beliefs, but she would be silly to not admit that the Galra were a bit out of her depth. In more ways than one. Still, her shoulder turned a bit away from him. 

“And… in honesty, if I can help prevent a mutiny whilst the Voltron team is on board by sending dissenters back to the homestead, I will do that. Better not let words like those spread at least until we’re married.”

When she finally meets his gaze again she’s surprised at how close it is. She has to look up.

“If we are to rule together, should I not at least have a say in these things?” It’s the last point she can think to make and as soon as she says it she regrets it a little.

Luckily, he laughs.

She gets a good look at his teeth when he does. And it's either the sight of them or his next words that make her ears burn.  
  
“You’re not Empress _yet_ .” His smile falls, but only a few fractions. “And no, Princess, you would not. Not at least until you understand the people you’re inheriting, just as I will presume not to have every say in the Coalition’s goings-on.”  
  
“Alright. That’s… reasonable.” Her lips ache as they pout, and she tries to look away from him, but can't.  
  
“Thank you, for your patience.”

It’s hard to break these slight silences when she’s very aware that they’re standing there, alone. In her bedroom. 

“Will you accept my apology as well? That was exactly what I was hoping to avoid by sending you down there and I seem to have underestimated my people’s... spirit, so to speak.”  
  
“It’s not your fault.” She reassures. It’s automatic in her, he’s been, as always, insufferably polite. Because _it is_ a bit his fault.  
  
“I had maybe mistaken the atmosphere of the topic. By…” Weirdly, he looks embarrassed, head tilted and eyes seemingly distracted with her furniture. “...recent discussions, I had thought the overall excitement about the union to be rather all-encompassing. It’s a mistake I won’t—”  
  
It actually takes a second for Allura to realize what he's saying through his side-stepping vocabulary, but when she does she steps even closer and her arms raise as if to stop him from moving even though he isn't.  
  
“No! No! You’re right!” She fumbles, arms dropping, but eyes wide. He looks alarmed. “You’re absolutely right! The general mindset of everyone seems to be positive!”  
  
Lotor says nothing, still a bit speechless maybe.  
  
“I—They—” She falters. She’s not sure she can keep up with him and his propriety anymore. Not about this. “No one will stop talking about it! The wedding, the clothes—” She finally admits.

And then she’s walking. Pacing. Honestly. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

“—where it will be, whose in attendance, if it will have armor or moonlight or music—”  
  
It's not until she realizes she’s almost walked a circle around him that she stops, finding his eyes and body pivoting to keep track of her.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“No, please, I—” He smiles. “I’m glad I’m not alone in the experience.”  
  
She straightens once more.  
  
“They’re asking you the same things?”  
  
A claw is on his chin as he nods, his eyes a little lazy-lidded. “They ask if I will give a right of passage, if my General’s have been selected for my Oathsguard, and yes… what you will wear. It’s been difficult to carry on most meetings.”  
  
He looks wary, but it’s hard for her not to laugh, thinking about Galra interrupting important conferences to pester Lotor of all people, their Emperor, about the colors of his wedding.

“I didn’t think the Galra would be so sentimental.”

It’s a slip. She recognizes it as soon as she says it. An assumption based on prejudices.  
  
Lotor considers her and if he realizes this he chooses not to call her out on it.  
  
“There has been some disagreement as well. I’ve received a few nasty messages from the pureblood rebels against me in the eastern territories. But if they weren’t complaining about our union I’m sure they would just go back to complaining about me.” He sighs, a lock of white falling to his shoulder. “And those in ranks high enough to voice concerns do only that. Voice it.”  
  
What he’s saying only reinforces her earlier discussion with Coran. The flight master was always so poignant. They’re having the same problem, they would share the same solution.  
  
“We must be wed very, very, soon.”  
  
His arms tighten, brows drawn up.  
  
“Don’t you agree?”  
  
“I do.” He admits quickly. But he doesn’t relax. “I just had not thought you would suggest it.”  
  
She gives him a challenging smirk.  
  
“I’m the one who proposed.”  
  
The corner of his mouth twitches.  
  
“So you are.” His eyes look away for only a moment before he continues. “How fast do you have in mind, Princess?”  
  
If he means to put her on the spot, he shouldn’t have underestimated her. She feels too competitive now. A familiar weakness she will always deny.  
  
“Very. The end of this phoeb at least.”  
  
“How about the end of this movement?”  
  
“Alright.”  
  
He doesn’t stop looking surprised. And it’s a slow catch-up for her as she realizes what she’d just agreed to.  
  
It makes sense. It’s already been two movements since her proposal. And the faster they got it over with, the faster they could get to finishing their treaty let alone enforcing their reign of peace.

And it wasn’t like she didn't know it was inevitable anyway.

“Yes.” She nods, staring him down. “One movement.”

“Yes.”

Stars, the silence.

He at least looks just as determined as she.

Alone.  
  
Here in her room.  
  
Allura swallows.

“We… we have much to plan then.”

“Quite a bit.”  
  
She moves a step toward her bed.  
  
They should sit, honestly. There’s a lot to go over.

“Do you have the time?” She asks. Her voice is much too high. She notices it and so must he, so she looks at him with as much genuine curiosity as she can manage despite her clammy fingers and the heat around the collar of her dress. 

Lotor shifts and she tries to tell herself she’s  _imagining_ him stare behind her. At her bed.  
  
“My company is at your pleasure, Princess.”  
  
That’s really not the best sentence for her to hear. And as her lip rolls under her teeth she wonders how to word it. ‘Please, join me,’ with a pat on her sheets? Or maybe she just sits and says nothing. Would he invite himself? It was so stupid to bring him in here in the first place.  
  
“Princess Allura!”  
  
Coran.

They both turn and a knock on the door seems to pierce through the metal straight into her chest.  
  
“Coran!” Her voice feels hoarse. “I’m—”  
  
“Pidge mentioned you’d returned!”

“Yes!”

It’s quiet and as Lotor turns to regard her in his own stoic silence, very much a sharp, black and purple, _Galra thing,_ in the middle of her private chambers, she realizes she can’t very well hide the man. Not that she should. It was a childish instinct. 

“I had a message from the Balmera colony!”  
  
“Come in!”  
  
The door opens. It's fast and snappy. And she can only imagine what her expression looks like. Or what their closeness looks like—heavens, had they been that close the entire time and she hadn't noticed?  
  
Coran’s curled mustache seems to freeze his smile in place.

“Lotor and I were just—talking.”  
  
_It’s not an excuse, it’s not an excuse, it’s not an excuse._  
  
Lotor says nothing, not that he could say anything to make the matter seem any better.  
  
“RIGHT-O!” Coran yells this. It’s a shout. Really. She shrinks.  
  
“Was there something—?”  
  
“No not at all don’t you worry your head it can wait most definitely excuse me don’t mind me at all just heading back to the deck I’ll be there when you’re done you just give me a call alright well fought thank you!!”  
  
He steps backward as he talks and most of it drowns out when the sensors pick up his distance and the doors close before either of them can say goodbye.

With the words fading, Allura realizes it's even heavier in the air than before. It’s like the oxygen has gone out. Like she’d put on her dress too tight. Lotor’s presence was starting to feel like a black hole to everything around her but, well, her.

He hasn’t looked back at her yet, his eyes still on the door, then the ceiling, then her vanity, and her mirrors. He’s looking at everything but her. At least he has the decency to look calm and at ease. 

When he turns, he’s so tall his gaze doesn’t have to move to look above her head as his eyes pass over her bed and closet.  
  
Stars! Space! Heavens! Host your damn guest, just say _—something—_

And then his eyes are on her, and he turns to show her his profile. 

His arm lifts to bend in front of her.

His voice is soft.  
  
“Shall we walk _the_ _Round_?”

And then she’s not looking at his arm.

She’s looking at her father’s, laughing and grasping him as they rush out of Altea’s court square, past the gardens to The Round. She could almost hear the crowds, can almost smell the tasselterry fruits as they line the columns of the graveled track. The people wave and the two of them wave back, arm in arm, talking about mother’s birthday or Allura becoming a lady of her own. She’d always felt so charmed, so proud, to be considered an adult enough to chit-chat about the weather or gossip as the rest of the nobles did, walking in endless circles in pretty dresses, or winter capes, and—

Her nose burns.

Lotor’s arm looks a little blurry.  
  
They're alone in her room still, but her mind is slow as it returns from her memories.  
  
“ _Oh._ ”  
  
She slips her hand around his arm gently. “How do you know—”  
  
When she looks up the lights in her ceiling are too bright behind his head. He’s smiling.

“We may not be able to partake of the real thing, but I hope your Castle is enough to serve the same purpose.”  
  
“Yes.” Her voice is light, breathy.

He sets the pace and they leave the bedroom.

 

* * *

 

It’s aimless. It’s supposed to be.

And it’s funny, looking down at her skirts and seeing them swish at his boots, sometimes curling about the heels before bouncing back with every step.

They’re talking about the wedding as they had intended and making some progress. Guests have been mostly selected, the date and time are decided—and _she is_ listening, she is, but there’s a breathless elation in her she can’t get rid of, a happiness that seems contagious in the simple act of her fingers on his arm and the way they share the space between their shoulders, looking at each other before looking ahead. 

It’s another experience she thought she'd never have again.  
  
“If it is an entirely Galra ceremony, the Alliance and Coalition might see it as… unwelcoming to them.”  
  
“Or a conquest.” He returns aptly. Lotor’s voice is lofty as always, but next to her ear it’s even more intimidating. She can’t get used to it, even as they pass the dining halls for the second time. “No, I see. I had the same thought. And as much as I would enjoy the exploration of heritage in a completely Altean wedding—”  
  
“You aren’t a conquest either.” She nods.  
  
He glances at her with an amused look, it's a smile that flashes a fang.  
  
Once more, she wonders if she’s scared of the sight of such a thing, or if it's just embarrassment that makes her sweat. His bicep feels hot beneath her touch.  
  
“No, I’m not.”  
  
“The answer again would be, something neutral.”  
  
“I had thought about asking your paladins about _their_ way of marriages and weddings.” He says, sighing. Allura watches his chest move and is surprised to almost feel it too, this close. “But I think something too foreign might just confuse our audiences”  
  
“Audience…” She trailed. Not for the first time in their walk.  
  
His laugh bumps her shoulder.  
  
“Allura, I _must_ broadcast it. Otherwise, the entire ordeal is pointless and our meetings will still be utterly interrupted, or we will be called liars.”   
  
“Yes, yes, agreed, I understand.” She pats his arm instinctively.  
  
“We must give every faction something they want to see.”  
  
“Why not both then? Why not have a dual ceremony of both Altean and Galra custom.”  
  
He balks, their steps almost stagger.  
  
“No?”  
  
“I’m not opposed to the idea, but they aren’t exactly complimentary. There are details that simply won’t work.”

Allura tilts her head. Do the Galra just fight the entire time?

“Is it just one long battle for you?”  
  
His gaze catches her assumption right in its throat and she has some decency to look a little apologetic.  
  
“No. We disarm each other, actually.” He looks down. “It’s the Altean details… I can’t—”  
  
Allura follows his gaze to his hand between them.  
  
His claws tap against his palm idly.  
  
They pass the airlock with soft footsteps.

“Parents are an important aspect, in the beginning, and in the end.”  
  
She’s surprised by his answer but realizes the problem immediately. It’s a problem for her too actually—but—

Funny, how quickly it’s solved for her, even in her heart.

Still, for Lotor…

“Then…” He’s still not looking at her so her fingers play about his arm, nudging his rib. He seeks her gaze at the soft touch. “How about the beginning is Altean. And the end can be Galra.”

His mouth parts.   
  
“If you think about it, it says a lot to do it that way. Not in a beginning and end fashion, but in the ways of peace. Acceptance of what has been done and what’s going to be done. Like a passing of the torch.”  
  
He grins. “You don’t know how accurate you are with that comparison.”  
  
Allura blinks before giving a cautious smile. “Morga had mentioned fire.”  
  
“Yes.” His free hand comes up to press on her knuckles, and his nails tap so gently on her skin she feels a jolt shiver up her elbow into her spine. Her teeth feel numb.  
  
He’s so… _soft._

It's a stupid thing to think about Lotor. Every angle of him seems to cut glass. His eyes and his jaw, even his hair in some ways. He’s practically a laser beam.

And apparently just as hot.

_In temperature, obviously._

Allura huffs like she needs to pant, fingers almost sweaty. She doesn’t stop their walk though and as they make a left turn he continues, “It works. In fact, it almost works too well.” He hums. “I like it.”  
  
“Good! Another thing is decided.” She smiles up at him and he shares the expression.  
  
Funny, this was actually all falling into place very easily. They didn’t disagree much and when they did it was always cordial. She supposed that’s what happened with two royals born into this sort of thing.

“That settles the who, the when, and the how.” He says as the lights flicker about their feet, the overhead of the Castle’s lights turning on and off as sensor’s pick up their presence. “Now for the where…”

“Again,” She reminds and he looks down at her with lidded yellow eyes. “I insist on neutral grounds.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
They’re quiet as they enter the ballroom and for a moment they’re in the dark. The room is large and there is only two of them. They’d been almost everywhere now except here and the deck. (Coran’s presence still in the back of her mind.)  
  
“It couldn’t be on the flagship. Nor the homesteads. It’s too open to strangers or too Galra in nature. Olkari—no, it can’t be Coalition grounds. And anywhere unclaimed is too vulnerable to attack by the rebel fleets.”

She can almost feel him better this way, the smooth expanse of his uniform under her fingers and the muscles behind that a firm but giving texture.

Her dress twists in and out between his legs, she feels the pulls of it on her hips.  
  
“I don’t suppose we could have it inside Voltron.” He laughs.  
  
The sound of it shakes her. Not for the first time, stars, _not for the first time_. And it makes her smile this time too, because he’s funny and because it’s making her feel funny.  
  
“N-no.”  
  
Oh. She can see his eyes in the dark like this, yellow and thin. The purple in his iris is lit by the effect too. _Lilac._

Her fingers press into his arm and she stops, turning toward him. _Lush._

 _Blue splendor_. Her mind replies.

Allura swallows.  
  
“Yes?”

It could be her imagination, but there’s a rasp in his question. Maybe. 

“Lotor,” Oh, there’s a rasp in hers too.  
  
What did it mean, she suddenly wants to ask. _Blue splendor, ephemera, sink deep, drink death, sing pink—_

He must have thought about the words. She had too, for him. It had to be planned. And she had thought about what hers had meant, what she was describing. It had been meant to sound romantic, for the pretend nature of it all— but you can’t— you can’t pretend to have romantic thoughts and not think about the _meaning_ of them too. Or the why.

“Allura.”

The lilac and lush of his skin— the strength of his battle, the intrusion of him, as a concept even, to her thoughts, the idea of a lover or a crush having kept a woman up through sleep, like nights dreaming about handsome heroes back in Altea. Of fantasizing about his rare smile, fleeting like flowers but just as sweet and just—

Flowers.

The ballroom lights sputtered on and she stares at her poem come to life, his hand clasped on hers as it rests on his arm.  
  
His hair has fallen forward to touch her shoulder, white strands clinging to the static of her dress.

Oh, she’d— _she’s thinking about this._  
  
She’s really thinking about this, isn’t she?

No! Flowers— she’d been thinking about flowers— and where they were going to have the damn ceremony.  
  
“Can I show you something?” She asks suddenly.

His blink is slow, and his head pulls away from her, but his voice is low enough that she might scream. “Please.”

The walk turns more brisk and purposeful.  
  
She lets go of his arm to lead the way.

And to calm down.

She tries to fill him in without ruining the surprise, a shadow of wisdom in her mind realizing he might actually, really enjoy what she’s about to show him and for some reason really wanting to savor that response. 

“We’d have to minimize the guests, and rig the room with your drone recorders if we are to broadcast the visual, but, it’s, I think it’s perfect.”  
  
There’s a smile on her face as they stop in front of the viewing chamber.  
  
He says nothing, but she can see the flicker of confusion and caution in the play of his lips as he frowns.  
  
She opens the doors with a wave of her hand and feels the familiar holo-buzz on the ground below her. Below the grass even. But it’s brighter. Brighter than any room, and warm.  
  
The heat is from the emitted fragments of light. She knows it. But it’s always enough to emulate the sun, even as the light shifts synthetics to emulate clouds overhead.  
  
She hurries out to the center to escort him inside, the door whisking closed behind them. Her arms outstretched to gesture past the fields of juniper flowers.  
  
“There’s plenty of room! For the procession, I mean. And for at least most of the party, you can see what I mean about the number of invitations. And, I’ll have to check with Coran about lighting fires. But, to anyone watching, this is just as neutral as it gets. And it’s safely within the Castle, which is safely in your Empire—”  
  
“—Allura.”  
  
She stops to turn back to him but he’s not looking at her.  
  
The fake Altean breeze takes her breath away, it catches his white locks in a playful dance as he twists around so slowly, so _incrementally_ slowly.  
  
His eyes land on her and it’s _painful,_ and _it’s not_ a question.  
  
“This is Altea.”  
  
He’s beautiful.  
  
She’s not sure why she thinks of it now, but she does. Maybe it was the walk, or the poetry in the dark—the ridiculous idea of bringing him here, beneath _this sky_ of all things—but yes, he is. He’s stunning right where he stands.  
  
“Yes.” She says softly. “The fields outside the city. Beyond my home. It’s—my father and I loved it here.” She explains. And she can’t stop talking, can’t stop staring as he turns again, looking around, his hand lifting as if to feel the air that isn’t there. Numbness crawls slowly from her feet to her fingers.  “And I know that’s not technically neutral ground, but I don’t think most would recognize it but me—...but us.”

His eyes close.  
  
“We could have it here.” She says gently.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
His hand falls and he turns to look at her, yellow-lilac eyes almost a white-pink in the sun.  
  
_“Please.”_


	6. Teal Violet

  
“The first half is considerably more intricate than the second half, but such is the way of marriage for Altean custom, so please excuse the overwhelming details.”

Her fingers twist against each other as she hands the last tablet screen to Lance. 

He takes it with a guarded expression, but joins everyone else with their heads down, faces illuminated in teals and pinks.

“Once the Galra customs begin, ah, from the middle onward—”

There’s a fast tapping behind her and she turns to watch Keith’s finger flick rapidly down the tablet.

“—That’s when things should get a bit more straightforward. That being said, if there’s anything disagreeable with the assignments I’ve given, I can work around them, or if anyone would not like to participate, it’s certainly not an obligation—”

No one says anything, and she isn’t sure if she takes that as a good or bad sign.

It only lasts a tick though, as the reading seems to catch up to them.  
  
“A movement? That’s—that’s only a few quintents away!” Lance exclaims, he drops the metal pad to his lap.  
  
“Wait, only a movement?” Pidge frowns at him from the floor, peering at her own tablet and flicking through the information in her crossed legs.

“I know that it’s a short notice. But _now_ is the best timing. Not only because this act will carry forward the treaty between the Empire and the Coalition, or even that we only have a short window of quiet before the Fires of Purification begin their assault, but also because the faster it happens the easier the actual arrangement will be.”

She means that the faster it’s done the faster she can pretend it hadn’t actually happened. And the faster she can hide away from the embarrassing mess of it all, but she doesn’t say it. It just shows in the flush of her face.  
  
“But a movement That’s only what? Nine, ten—quintents?” Lance looks annoyed, concerned, and a bit horrified, honestly.  
  
“Out here a movement is still only seven.” Pidge corrects.  
  
“That's a week!” He confirms, standing from the couch. The tablet clatters to the floor and everyone’s eyes are drawn to stare at him.  
  
“Weak?” Allura questions, her brows drawing. A mess of something solid but loose forming in the hollow of her throat at the accusation. “In what way is it weak?”  
  
“No-no! _Week_ — that’s only a week’s time.” He corrects, head shaking.

Allura’s not sure how to confirm the concept. Hunk interrupts them anyway. 

“Are we sure we can do all of this in a movement? I don’t know if I can learn that much Galra that quickly.”  
  
“Oh, No, Hunk,” Allura hurries to his side across from Lance, peering over his hands to point at his tablet. “You don’t have to speak Galra. Lotor will provide you with the translation. It’s just the announcements in basic you’re in charge of.”  
  
“Oh! Got it, okay, that’s not so bad! Oh—I get a sword?”  
  
“Yes!”  
  
“Oh yeah! Okay, cool.”  
  
“Come on guys, this can’t be serious.” Lance tries.  
  
“It seems pretty serious.” Keith says, his hand lowering his tablet to glare at Lance across the room.  
  
“You stay out of this!” Lance points a finger.  
  
“Lance please.” Allura sighs. Keith doesn’t rise to the bait though.  
  
She had expected this. Or at least, she had expected the fallout of at least the newly appointed red paladin. She just hadn’t expected him to be the only one. Everyone else is strangely quiet. Maybe too quiet? She glances around the room to see them reading silently, and feels her nerves shake through her once more.  
  
“A-again, if any of the assignments seem to big an obligation—”  
  
“Allura.”  
  
It’s Shiro.

He stands behind her, at the head of the small sitting table where they all lounge, looking a little sheepish.

“Yes, Shiro?”  
  
His hand scratches the arm holding his tablet as she waits for his silent but tentative refusal of participation. It doesn’t come.  
  
“Can you explain a bit about what I’m supposed to do with the... _Siciri_ strings?”  
  
Despite having spent all day discussing and deciding the details of the ceremony with Lotor, and talking thoroughly about every bit of information and every role, well into the night and well into her imaginations—it’s still odd to hear Shiro say the very Altean word out loud.  
  
Her face and ears are hot with childish, silly, nerves, but she smiles wanely, approaching the black lion and gesturing about her hair.  
  
“It’s wrapped around like this. A blessing from kin to represent lessons learned.”  
  
Shiro nods, looking back at the words diligently, before raising his hand upward in a practice motion.  
  
“And then we walk, like this?”  
  
“Yes, exactly.”  
  
“It says here Shiro walks you to the point of Legacy, from the point of Birth.” Pidge says out loud.  
  
Allura looks back at the girl with a wary grit of her teeth. “Yes, that’s right.”  
  
“It says he then hands you to the role of King.”  
  
“Y-yes.”  
  
“And then he stands as role of Regent when you pass.”  
  
“Ah—hah, yes.”  
  
“Is Shiro your Mom?”  
  
Allura cringes.  
  
“WHAT?” Lance exclaims. Keith coughs behind him, sounding choked.  
  
Hunk is laughing pretty loudly.  
  
“W-well, yes—” Allura confirms.  
  
Pidge snorts into a chuckle to echo Hunk’s.  
  
She stiffens next to Shiro underneath their reactions, unable to stop herself from spying on his expression. His brows don’t line up with each other as they shift oddly on his forehead, pink-cheeked and lips screwy.  
  
“M-most of the wedding is supposed to be regulated by parents. But seeing as Lotor and I are both at a bit at a loss in that aspect, I had to improvise and, well—”  
  
“You see me as a Mother figure?” Shiro asks. It’s a gentle question.  
  
Lance finally joins in the laughter, temporarily forgetting his aversion to the ordeal.  
  
“It’s more complicated than that.” She offers.

Hunk waves his arms trying to settle himself. “Wait, wait, wait—stop-I can, I can kinda see that.”

“What? You can?” Shiro turns, looking surprised.  
  
Pidge rolls backward onto her arms, cocking her head. “You know, yeah, I can see that too.”  
  
“H-How?” Lance giggles out. “Shiro? Like a mom? If anything he’s like a dad.”  
  
“Think about it!” Hunk urged, hand coming out with outstretched fingers. He points to them. “He talks about how proud he is of us all the time—”  
  
“I am proud of you guys—”  
  
“He’s constantly coming into our rooms just to check up on us and remind us to eat.”  
  
“You all forget to—”  
  
“He tells us to wash our hands after visiting new planets—”  
  
“—don’t forget that time we lost the access key on that Galra post mission. And he said—”  
  
“‘ _I’m not mad, I’m disappointed._ ’” Keith finished softly in the back of the room.

Lance laughed and then pointed at Shiro. “Or how bout that time I got sick from the double warp jump and you snuck some chocolate from those earth ration packs to settle my stomach.”

“Or when I couldn’t sleep on Epox so we stayed up watching horror movies even though you hate them.” Pidge sat up.  
  
Shiro looked around the room, shoulders drawing up, glancing at Allura. “What about all that stuff?”  
  
“Yeah, those are definitely mom things.” Lance finally agreed.  
  
“See! Told ya.” Hunk fell back into the couch.

“Mom things.” Shiro echoed, looking back down at his tablet quietly. “Mom things…”

The room felt soft, but still, Allura reached out to place her fingers on Shiro’s arm.  
  
“If… you’d like me to change it, Shiro, I can figure something else out.”

Shiro didn’t reply immediately, but when he did it was with that familiar determined expression, with his dark set eyes and a thin smile.  
  
“No, I can do it. I would be proud to walk you to your Dad in the ceremony.”  
  
The nerves from before are gone immediately.  
  
“Thank you, Shiro.”

“But that means Allura’s Dad is—-”

The entire room stops, before turning to the far end of the lounge.  
  
“Oh—Coran!” She exclaims, her body freezing.  
  
The flightmaster is shaking, his ginger hair buried into the tablet he holds with both hands, eyes closed as streaks of glistening water slide down his face. He barely looks up at the rest of them, his once silent crying breaking with a ripping sniffle.  
  
“Coran—I didn’t mean—”  
  
“I’m—h-honor-red-to-f-f-fill-K-king-al-Alf-for’s-shoe-s-s!!”  
  
“ _Oh_ , _Coran_ —” Allura the corners of her eyes stung as she watched her oldest friend and dearest companion crumple, his shoulders stiffened into a half salute, imagining him as he was, as he would be, waiting to receive her in place of her father. She could almost see Alfor’s smile in Coran’s own, and before she could shake the image, her eyes wince and her hand races to wipe away the salt of tears.  
  
She pressed her fists into her vision, not seeing or realizing the moment Coran had crossed the gaps to enclose his arms around her.  
  
“I can’t believe it.” He hushed. “I’ll be the one to pass on the little Princess to her betrothed.”

She struggled to laugh through her shaky embarrassment, but the sound was muffled by a stuffy nose, giving away her floundering.  
  
Luckily, the rest of the paladins were looking at her buried in Coran’s arms with nothing but smiles.  
  
Even Lance.  
  
“Well at least we all get cool jobs, right?” He asked, rocking back on a heel with a dubious but light expression.  
  
“Y-yes. That is, if everyone is alright with participating, please know it’s not a command I’m making. Nor is it an obligation.”  
  
A hand reached out to tap her shoulder, and she pulled away from Coran to smile up at Shiro as his fingers rub her back.  
  
“We’ll all do our best, as a team, and as a family. Won’t we guys?”

“Of course.”

“Absolutely.”  
  
“For Allura, yeah.”  
  
“It’s gonna be great!”

The answers were staggered but cheerful and Allura had to hide her face again to hurriedly compose her fast blearing vision.

Coran’s hand pressed a kerchief into her hands from his pocket. The act almost made her want to cry more. She sucked in a breath and used it to pat herself dry as she listened to them bustle about the lounge, picking up the tablets once more.

“What is my role, anyway?” Lance continued  
  
“It says here, you’re Allura’s Knight in Waiting.”  
  
“Does that mean I get a sword too?”  
  
“Yeah? Wait, uhhhh, I don’t see one.”  
  
“What do you mean? Knights always have swords!”  
  
“In Altea, a Knight is responsible for guarding virtue, not threats.”  
  
“Huaawwwww, that could still be sword worthy.”  
  
“I don’t see a role for Keith.”  
  
“Ha! At least I have a role, unlike Keith!”  
  
“I don’t need any roles.”  
  
“Jealous?”  
  
“No!”

“Hey, says here I get a sword too!”

“What!? Pidge and Hunk get swords and they aren’t even knights like me!?” 

It was hard not to smile. As nervous as she was, or had been, there was something so utterly reassuring about the steadfast dependability of her paladins. Her friends. Maybe it was her own fault for underestimating them each time, be it a mission or something more innocuous.

Like marriage.

Right. Innocuous.

* * *

 

Just like before, the wedding stops everything else in its tracks. Unlike before, Allura actually lets it; spending the following days prepping every little nuance and detail of the ceremony. There’s a lot to go over, especially in such a short amount of time, so she finds herself in and out of company with most of her paladins as they rotate tasks and errands.

She and Lotor are also touch and go.

In the following two quintents, he doesn’t visit, but he does send message. Smalls blips of sonic communications sent to the ship, to her private line, her wristlet flashing with each correspondence. 

 

> _—Princess Allura  
>  _ _I have managed to allocate our requested fauna from my forces in the tazim sector. I'm having a personnel retrieve it for the Castle. Expect them within one quintent.  
>  _ _—with gratitude, your intended, Lotor_

They’re all like this. Addressed and signed in the most respectable way. And without denotation of his title too, a humbling thing she knows is to show his elevation of her status compared to his (and again, that's silly on its own, he’s a literal _emperor_ now) but which only makes her feel… nervous. It’s _so_ informal.

_Intimate._

It’s necessary though, and most helpful. _He’s_ most helpful.

 

> _—I am elated to inform that I have managed to successfully commission a set of caltrestine podiums, a rather excellent material to replicate the natural altrucite of Altea.—  
>    
>  —My Oathsguard is to join me in the evening to have theirs and my own armaments fitted. With permission from you, of course.—  
>    
>  —Our mutual acquaintance for invitation has accepted, I am proud to tell you.—_

She reads each one, each time ending in that rhythmic, almost poetic,  ‘with gratitude, your intended, Lotor,’ ‘with gratitude, your intended, Lotor,’ ‘with gratitude, your intended—

 _'Lotor’_  
  
It’s no wonder when a new one comes, beeping and flashing along her wrist, she near jumps, a burning heat filling her from her ears to her toes.

"You gonna get that, Allura?” 

Her eyes snap up across the table to Hunk, who looks a little funny with a bushel of bright blue persil-berries laying over his shoulder. He's fumbling with the matching ribbon for it, wrapping the stems slowly.

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

She sets down her own set of flowers and ribbons, shifting away from their completed piles to flick open her screen

 

> _—Pidge and I have had the drones properly retrofitted for the viewing room. She will be returning to you shortly. This near concludes the preparations on my end until we meet in the morning for practice. I look forward to seeing this through with you Princess.—_

Allura can barely read the signature after the last sentence, but it comes to her anyway, burned into her memory as it is. Gratitude. Your Intended.

Lotor.  
  
She rolls her lip through her teeth before typing her hurried, measly, sad little response.  
  
_[Thank you—Allura]_

It’s the only thing she could ever get herself to say. Every time. Pathetic.

“Is it Lotor?”

“What?” She asks, her voice incredibly high. Her hand covers her wrist and the holo fizzles out.

Hunk is smiling at her, his hand threading the ribbon over some leaves.  
  
“Yes.” She nods, her smile thin and forced. “It seems the drones are finished.”  
  
“We’re making a lot of headway.” He ties off his ribbon and tosses the bushel into the pile before reaching for some more.

“Here,” She slides him all the pre-cut ribbons. “And thank you, again,”  
  
“No problemo!” He nods. She means to say more, has meant to say more to all of her paladins for their diligence and patience, but they had taken it all in such strides she was left just feeling overwhelmingly relieved.

She continues with him, picking up her forgotten bushel and wrapping fast. 

“It’s funny, I had to do something like this back on earth.”  
  
“Wrap flowers?”  
  
“Well, it was actually stringing balloons to chairs, but still, it was a lot like this.”

“Balloons?”  
  
“Yeah for my sister’s wedding.”

“Oh.” Allura is quiet, looking down at her work. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”  
  
Hunk chuckles. “I’ve got four sisters.”  
  
“Four!”  
  
“Only two are married though, and only one had a wedding. Isla just went to Vegas.”  
  
“Vegas?” She tries to copy his pronunciation and fails  
  
“Yeah, oh man, mom was pissed! Not about the getting married part, that was fine—just that she couldn’t be there. And that all the photos were grainy. Plus they were holding beers the whole time.”  
  
“Beers?”  
  
“But it worked out when they came back. We ended up having just— _the best_ —cookout ever. Made a big beach party out of it. Practically a wedding anyway.”

Allura couldn’t say she followed his line of conversation, but it was certainly interesting. She dropped another bundle to the pile, and snipped more ribbon for them both.

“You know it’s funny, when I think about it, I think Isla would have hated a wedding like Maya’s. I mean it was nice, but it was a wedding _wedding_ , you know? Like I had to wear a suit and everything.”  
  
“Traditional?” She guessed.  
  
“Exactly. And mom always complained about not getting to do that again but, it’s almost like you gotta have the wedding for you. Cookout, Vegas, Church—Reyna said she always wanted to just do it in the courtroom and move on.” His hand brushed the air in a dismissive way.  
  
“I see.” She didn’t, at least, not the details.

“Kinda like you and Lotor.”

“O-oh?” 

“Yeah I mean,” Hunk turned to look at her before looking pointedly at the table where they were working. “You’re Altean. He’s Altean. You’re a Princess,” Hunk leaned on his elbow with an arched brow and a smirk. “ _He’s_ a Prince.”

She laughs, it’s all she can do. Her fingers scramble to squeeze her own cheeks, to stop herself from blushing, so she laughs him off. “Hunk! Really, that’s just it! We’re royalty. We aren’t having a wedding for us—we aren’t even having a marriage for us! We have to.”  
  
“You don’t _have_ to.” He shakes his head.  
  
Allura pauses.  
  
Hunk continues to grab more flowers, eyeing them critically to make a decent bushel.  
  
“I mean, yeah, the treaty and everything. I get it. Politics. But there are other ways, right? I mean, this is just easiest for you two.”  
  
She frowns.  
  
“Well… no… yes, I mean—”  
  
“Because you two are so alike.”  
  
“What?” She really stops then, flowers falling to her lap.  
  
Hunk doesn’t seem to notice her confusion.  
  
“Like, yeah, you two are supposed to marry. You’re both from the same time, both your parents were friends and then enemies. _You guys_ were enemies and now friends. Galra and Altean history, peace, yeah—But he also walks the way you walk. He talks the way you talk. Like that.”  
  
_Walks the way you walk_. _Talks the way you talk._ _  
_ _  
_ It seems like a blasphemous thing to hear, but that’s her embarrassment at the comparison, isn’t it? She had thought something similar before her proposal. She liked the way he spoke, it was familiar. She had thought the same thing.  
  
She steers away from thinking of them walking the Round, arm in arm.

Too incriminating.  
  
“You guys are both really smart, and both really nice.” Hunk continued. “Can you pass another—”  
  
She slides a ribbon wordlessly.

“Thanks.” 

Lotor is in fact, intelligent. She never thought he wasn’t. And she doesn’t think herself stupid.

“He says things like _‘oh how terribly quaint’_ or whatever and you laugh, _‘ohohohoho!’_ ” 

He raises his hand to his mouth and pulls off giggling in an oddly amusing Altean accent. Allura sinks low in her seat and feels sweat form on her brow.

“You know? It works. Makes sense.”  
  
“I-I s-see.”  
  
“I see the persil-berry paths are coming along!”  
  
“Coran!”

She’s relieved to see the flightmaster, and as he whisks through the doors she takes the excuse to help him with the stacks of fabrics in his arms to take a breather from Hunk’s too-accurate conversation.

She makes room for him to place the yardage by their work.  
  
“I have Shiro getting the rest of the train down in storage right now, but I warned him I was stopping here first for your approval.”  
  
“We’re almost done.” Hunk informs, slightly wary.

The black paladin had begun the flower wrapping task with them before realizing he was horribly allergic.

“Pidge is headed back too, the drones are finished—” Allura smiled.  
  
“No!” Coran near yelled, his hands dropping a few Altean silks. They wafted to the floor as dramatically as he suddenly looked.  
  
“W-what is it?”  
  
“Send her right around! I need the Prince’s measurements!”

“W-what?” Allura stepped backward to avoid Coran trying to grasp her desperately. “You’re making my dress, not his!”

“Lotor’s wearing a dress?” Hunk asked.  
  
“N-No! He’s wearing Galra armor—” Allura corrected.  
  
“He needs an Altean tabard!” Coran argued.  
  
Allura glared, crossing her arms defiantly, as if in a challenge to the statement.

“It’s ceremonial!” He continued. “He’s to wear the royal crests upon the hems of his sleeves just as you are his. In respect to the king!”  
  
“He’s already outfitted armaments. He is representing the _Galra_ , Coran. The Galra don’t—”

“Then make him wear it underneath the armor! Surely they wear surcoats beneath their swords and shoulder pads!”  
  
“They aren’t Altean guard! And I already agreed to this!” Her voice gets louder, but Coran just snaps his knees straight, mustache bouncing from his angry retorts.  
  
“Tradition says the king’s gift to his son-in-law will be bared before his wife in the ceremony as a comfort of home!”

Hunk sinks low at the table, hiding behind fabrics and flowers.  
  
“This _isn’t_ a traditional wedding!”  
  
“No _daughter of mine_ is being received by a Galra hooligan who won’t accept my hand-sewn, esper weaved, gifted Altean tabard!!”

The shout is so loud Allura can almost see the wind from it breeze past her head as she literally ducks.

Her and Hunk’s eyes are wide as they stare, watching Coran slowly deflate. 

He seems immediately self-aware, sinking his hands back into the golds, reds, and blues on the table, before ripping them up over his face and whining. Loudly.  
  
Allura cringes.  
  
“Sounds like Dad’s mad about Vegas,” Hunk shakes his head, whispering with a hand beside his mouth and a soft pointed finger at the amorphous blob that was Coran.  
  
She rolls her eyes, even as her body feels warm at Coran’s particular insistence. Dad. She wonders if her Father would have also caused such a fuss.

Actually, he might have.  
  
“Coran, please, this is ridiculous.”  
  
But the noises get louder and sound an awful a lot like muffled complaining. Hunk just shakes his head, giving her a knowing look.  
  
Well, maybe not _this much._

Fine.  
  
“Hey, guys—whoa, what’s happening in here?”  
  
They turn to Pidge and Allura rolls her shoulders.  
  
“Nothing—I was just heading to see the Emperor for his measurements. _Apparently._ ” She sighed.  
  
Coran emerged from his fabric hovel with near stars in his eyes. Allura glared.  
  
“Is he still free?”  
  
“He was still in the survey room when I left.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Allura passes by the paladin with a small wave just to get accosted by her flight master once more.  
  
“Make sure you get the back seam and his height—and take this brocade and these cayan trims—see if they are too wide for the shoulders or the sleeves, I couldn’t decide—”  
  
“Coran, honestly—” She huffs, her arms piling.  
  
“And hurry back, I want to get started on the mock-up tonight! And don’t think I forgot about your skirts either!”  
  
She leaves with an unamused look, forlornly watching Pidge take her place at the flower wrapping.  
_  
_ _Fine._

 

* * *

 

Not fine.

Allura has the entire walk to realize exactly what her errand is and it is very much, not fine.

She considers messaging him. Warning him, really. But she can’t bring herself to do it, because the words don’t form correctly in her head.   
  
_‘I am headed to you to measure your body.’ ‘Are you unoccupied? I need to have a private space to record your measurements,’ ‘Do you happen to know the length of your arms and back?’_

She figures the best outcome would be to head to him and be turned away when he’s inevitably unavailable.  
  
“The Emperor is inside.”

Well then.

Allura glares at the guard as she approaches the survey room, not exactly pleased with having to follow this through without excuses.

He must take it the wrong way because the armored Galra stands straighter, looking nervous “S-Shall I announce you, Princess?” 

“No, that won’t be necessary I—” She paused, shifting the stack of fabric into one arm. “I’ve got this.”  
  
She ignored that ever-present voice of her governess reminding her of etiquette, reminding her that she had no chaperone, that she shouldn’t be opening her own doors—they were well past all that now, weren’t they?—and tried to enter the large conference room with as little noise as possible.

She accomplishes it. The silence of the survey room is all-encompassing, and her presence seems like nothing more than a shift in the air. 

It’s a long, sharp room with a conference table that spans most of its floor length. The chairs lining it sit unoccupied and still, markers of how alone exactly, she is. In fact, Allura almost thinks the guard had been lying until she rounds the table side to peer past the blind-spots of high-backed seats and spots him.

Her intended.

Lotor.  
  
He hasn’t noticed her.  
  
His chin sits heavily in his palm as he leans over the table surface, reading the screen it projects. The teal of it is an aurora borealis along the surface of his creamy hair, shifting softly to the white noise of the room. He’s sitting sideways—lounging, his legs extended into the chair beside him, knee propped, shoulders down. Tired. Eased.

Intimate. 

Allura is positive she’d never seen him look so unguarded. Well, if you didn’t count knocking him flat on his back and watching him bleed. That _had_ happened.

She shifts, hearing her own breath as she does and wonders if she should wait; if it would be more polite to let him have his quiet solace until he noticed her.

His head leans to the left, eyes unseeing as they distance themselves into the text he reads, stretching. The movement is subtle. Sacred.

It would be impolite to stare and that’s exactly what she’s doing.

“Your Highness?” She calls, sure to remember his title this time.

“Leave it at the door please.”

Allura freezes, eyes blinking rapidly at the low, rasped reply that seemed anything but welcoming. He doesn’t even look up. Perhaps this had been a bad idea. Oh well, no use in it now.

“I—” She looks down at her bundle of trims, letting them fall down her arms to the surface of the table. “I can leave them here, but I will have to at least have a mom—”  
  
“Princess Allura!”

There’s a snap and a clatter, his chair smacking about as his legs leave it hastily. The screen dies with a sharp hiss, or maybe that’s him as he straightens. His eyes don’t leave her as he quickly rounds the chair, both hands pushing his hair back over his shoulders, looking worried. 

“Apologies Princess, I’m—had—is there no one out there to receive you?” He questions looking back out to the door.

She has to look up, when he nears her, close enough that she can see the frazzled expression in the lines pulling at his frown.

“No, yes, there is I just, he said you were free.” Allura feels a sheepish tone crawl into her voice. And why is it that it only appears when the Galra Prince is this close? And when will she get used to this _height_? Still, he at least seems more off-center then she does. For once. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’m not.” He says quickly. But then his brows lift, lilac skin darkening to a pretty violet. “I… had not been expecting you.” His eyes catch hers only for a moment before they look to the floor. “Forgive me, how can I be of service, Princess?”

And suddenly he’s bowing low.

“Oh please!” Her hands wave quickly, “This doesn’t have to be so formal.”

He stands and she sees his spine relax.  
  
“I’ve been sent over for a few things. For the… wedding.” She says.

“Yes.” He doesn’t seem shy to hear the word. Just her then.

“Coran is drawing up my gown, but he’s also interested in having some of your measurements too.”

“Mine?”  
  
“It’s a silly thing.” She reassures when the confusion and worry are back on his face. Her fingers reach beside them to play at the trims and fabric swatches. “Really, and if you refuse it is no foul. But, In Altea, at the time of marriage, it’s tradition for the father-in-law—”  
  
“Coran is giving me a tabard?”

“Oh. You know of it?”  
  
“Of course, I simply hadn’t thought—” Lotor’s fist raises to quickly cover a twitch in his mouth. He almost sinks into himself and Allura wonders if she’s offended him somehow.  
  
“I already told Coran that we agree you would be wearing Galra attire, but he seemed—”  
  
“No, please, Allura—I would be honored.”

His hand touches lightly on her shoulder, the sharp ends of his claws tickling her skin through her top. She shivers, staring at the odd, unsure smile gracing his lips. 

“I had not thought I would be considered fit for the gift is all.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
His hand doesn’t leave her shoulder, so she relaxes underneath it. Not fit? Because it’s an arranged union or because he is Galra? Or does he literally mean he did not think he would fit into Altean clothes, thinking they would not be tailored to him? She wants desperately to ask. In fact, she wants desperately to ask a lot of things from him.

How is he holding up? Having second thoughts? Is he angry at all for being pressed into the position? Or did he always expect to marry for duty, as she did? Is he disappointed it isn’t with another of his own kind? That he couldn’t have a traditional Galra wedding as she couldn’t have an Altean one?  
  
Instead, it’s silent.

“I need your measurements.” She says quietly.

“Of course.” 

His hand leaves her.  
  
“Is this alright?” He gestures about the survey room. Allura eyes it with him, suddenly remembering how big and empty it is and how alone they are.

“This is fine.” She says, hearing the soft echo-less reverb of her voice in the cold quiet of the place. “You aren’t expecting anyone?”  
  
He chuckles, his head leaning back to do so. She’s not sure what’s funny, but he shakes his head anyway.  
  
“No, I can’t say that I am unless I have another betrothed entering after this without announcement.”  
  
Allura flushes, looking away from his handsome mirth to glare at the magnetic measures, picking up the points and focusing on turning them on to hide her shame.

“May I?”  
  
He’s directly behind her and his voice so close to her ear that she freezes once more. His arm passes her side to gesture to the fabric.  
  
“Oh, yes, they’re—”  
  
“Altean materials?”  
  
“Yes, just some embroidery. Coran wanted me to check to find which would be best suited.”  
  
“The pattern in these is interesting.’

She fastens the magnetics coins, pulling them open to reveal the flexible metal tape, but her eyes are on his fingers as they carefully unfurl the long golds and blues. 

“It’s all ostentatious.”  
  
“Ceremonial.”  
  
“Yes. I think that one is mostly for the guard. Pilots. That sort of role. The other is just our family crest.”  
  
“I see.” His eyes are intent, distant. He looks just as focused as he was when she came in as if the threading is readable text. There’s a smile playing on his expression. It makes her smile too.  
  
Allura leans in, her finger stopping with his to point out a swatch.

“The blue is for my father actually. Our nation’s coloring changes per ruler.”  
  
“It was green before King Alfor.”  
  
Allura pauses, turning up to look at him. “Yes.”  
  
He nods. “For his father, King Raln.”  
  
The image of her grandfather’s portrait simmers in her mind. Funny. That he knows.

Actually, Lotor seems quite knowing of most Altean custom. The taleson chain on her wrist feels immediately apparent.

“This red… is it for the military?”

She finds his curious gaze with her own. 

“No, of course— you don’t technically have a military, I meant, your knights.”  
  
“Yes.” She nods. “And the silver is for purity. Or, well, new generations.”  
  
“It’s exquisite.”

Allura feels something warm inside her. Maybe it’s the quality of his voice. Or the heat from him standing so near. Or maybe it’s just how nostalgic she is for her home. Maybe it’s all of it. 

Her fingers pull open and close the magnets idly. Lotor notices, his smile turning a tad twitchy again.  
  
“Apologies, I forget myself.” He pulls away, taking a few steps back to allow room around himself. They stare at each other for a moment and then he’s moving again, hands curling at his sides, legs shifting to stand at an odd center of weight. Fidgeting.  
  
“Should I have someone else...” Allura begins.  
  
“No, it’s, I imagine there isn’t much time to complete everything.”  
  
She doesn’t disagree and takes his words as permission, stepping close.

He steps backward from her and Allura blinks in surprise.

His hands rise. “Wait, allow me, I—”

Allura’s head tilts like her hearing has gone out in one ear. It might as well have. Lotor isn’t stuttering exactly, but that he’s missing his cadence at all is utterly profound. Even without the odd wincing or cringing.

Was he scared of her?

He seems to breathe a bit easier after a moment and then his hands go to his forearms, releasing the armor, turning them over to the table.

_Oh._

His hands pull at the neck apparatus of his chest piece, snapping it open.

As it slides down Allura looks pointedly at the far end of the wall, immediately interested in the spikes along the Galra architecture.  

Between the rustling of fabrics and the soft tink of his armor hitting the table, she hears a small chuckle and can’t help but turn back to look at him.

Lotor stands in his undersuit and boots alone. His pauldrons and waistcoat have joined the rest of the pile and Allura has only a moment to blush about it before he’s turning to her with a wry smile and speaking.

“I can practically hear my Governess throwing a fit for being so willingly unarmed.” 

“What?” She asks reflexively, her eyes dancing around the lines of the suit that clings to his chest. So much of his thickness is not the armor's doing. Yet he's still surprisingly leaner. Sharper.   
  
“It’s nothing.”

He returns to her and Allura holds the magnets aloft, looking a bit lost for a moment before shaking herself out of it and approaching his side.

She’d start with the easiest thing. His height. She pops the first magnetic coin to the floor by his foot.  
  
And that’s when his words come back, as she idly sets the magnet to begin recording and the metal tape begins unfolding. A governess. Of course. He was a Prince, after all.   
  
Hunk's words come back to her. About how similar they are.

“If it makes you feel any better, my governess would probably lose her mind knowing I was in a room without a chaperone and a man who’d disrobed.”

There’s a huff above her and she catches the flash of his fang. 

“I can’t say that puts me at ease, no.” But he breathes a soft laugh all the same. “I do not mean to hinder your virtue.”  
  
“Oh please.” She tries to reassure, pulling the tape above his shoulder and standing on her tiptoes to raise it to his head. “We must be beyond normal etiquette, considering the circumstances. Besides, you're an Emperor now. Not a Prince.”  
  
Most of this is exactly what she’s been telling herself and it almost feels validating to say it out loud. Her hand wavers.

Lotor’s own fingers come up to help, taking the metal gently from her and placing it on his head. “Point taken, Princess.”

She bites her lip to keep from smiling at his pun, even though his eyes close she sees the mirrored expression in his own grin.

The air feels lighter.

She flicks the metal tape at the markers of his height and hips, the little numbers highlighting themselves. The bottom magnet beeps, recording each tap. It’s a mundane process that helps move things along. It helps her focus on the task instead of the dip in Lotor’s surprisingly slim hips, or the sharp slope of his shoulder. Or the thick curve of his calves. Or. _Hmmmm._

She rotates around to his back.

“Allow me.” He says gently, and he collects the white strands of his locks, curving them forward to allow her a clean measurement.

Someone else should really be doing this. She shouldn’t be allowed to see things like this. Like the peek of bare skin at his nape. Or the creased wrinkles where his suit gets pinched underneath his waistcoat, at the divot above his backside.

She closes her eyes and breathes in, steeling herself some more. 

“Thank you.”  
  
One magnet at one shoulder and then another on the other end. Easy enough.

She places a finger at the number between the two, at the center of his spine. It highlights with a beep, and his body twitches beneath her.

She flushes.

“Has… your hair always been so long?” She asks suddenly, desperate for sound, for _something_ , to preoccupy her as she begins moving the magnets from his neck down to his waist. 

Lotor seems to hitch at each touch, but answers casually enough.

“Yes, or, I have never had it cut for style if that is your question.” 

“It is.”

“Then yes.” He agrees again. “I’m afraid I was never allowed to have it long as a child so I let grow despite that as soon as I was able.” 

Funny. She was never allowed to cut it but ended up liking it enough that cutting it now seemed almost frightening. She told him so.

“Products of nobility we are.” He sighed in amusement and she pictured his smile as she looped the tape through his arm. He took it diligently, feeding it back to the other side.

She pulled the tape close, trying to only stare at the numbers measuring his waist and not think about her forehead grazing his back.

The recorder beeped.

He was hot, or his body was. Did Galra run a higher body temperature than most? Or was he simply warm?

“Allura?” 

He looked down over his shoulder at her and she pulled back quickly, pretending to look focused.

“Sorry—could you put your arm out?”  
  
He looked wary but did so as she came around to meet him.

She doesn’t realize it as she starts, but as she continues down his sleeve, placing the point at his wrist, she’s suddenly aware of how… long he is. 

Which is stupid, of course he is, she’d been recording that hadn’t she?

But _he is_. His arms are well past his hips, past the middle of his thigh. She thinks his claws might be able to touch his knees without much of a stretch.

And they’re wide. Large.  
  
She normally wouldn’t need too, but she decides to measure the circumference of his upper arm and then his forearm. She's inevitably surprised by the difference.

She catches Lotor watching her intently as she measures his wrist too. 

“I’m sorry.” He says.  
  
“What for?” Allura frowns.  
  
His eyes look ahead again and he doesn’t say anything.

Allura waits quietly but when he doesn’t elaborate she lets it drop.

She finishes his chest and his side seams before standing in front of him again and motions around her own neck. 

“For the collar.”  
  
“Of course.”

“Last one.”  
  
His hair is moved again and she’s on her tiptoes once more.

Lotor helps steady her against him as she slides the tape around his neck and pulls it close. They wait, staring.

She follows an errant path in her gaze; up his neck and jawline, over his lips, and up to his eyes where she finds him looking directly back at her.

He’s a lot smoother than most Galra. His complexion is practically marble. It’s the Altean in him, no doubt. And for a second she tries to picture markings below his cheeks, wondering what color they might be to complement the lush purple of him.

Teal maybe? Violet?

The recorder beeps.

Her hands go slack but he doesn’t release her. The magnetic point slides listlessly back into itself.

As she lowers back onto her heels his body follows her, leaning down to keep the proximity.  
  
“Prince.”  
  
“Princess.” He replies instinctually. 

Her breathing slows to a stop and she wonders if he feels it do so, they're so close.   
  
She feels a puff of air from his lips and realizes if she feels him, he must feel her. 

It’s… odd, whatever this is… isn’t it? But it’s comfortable, his hands holding hers, their eyes not breaking away as they take in each other’s appearance. At least that’s what she’s doing, she has no idea what he might be…—oh, was he…?  
  
Hot water seems to fill her up in a rush, a steamy heat burning her from the inside out as she realizes how close he actually is, and how lidded his eyes look. She freezes, her shoulder going tight and her lips pursing. 

 _Oh_. Oh! _Oh_ —

Was he—going to— _kiss_ her?

“L—”

His hands drop hers and he straightens.  
  
“It’s good that we have this time, there’s been something I’ve wanted to discuss.”  
  
Allura's hands are frozen in the air where they had been held. It’s like whiplash, the change, so much so she must have been imagining things.

Stupidity colors her cheeks and burns her ears. She drops her eyes and hands, stepping backward quickly.

What had all that been?

“Oh? W-what’s that?”

“I know we’ve been preoccupied with the arrangements for the ceremony itself, but it's the days after I am concerned with.” He explains, back facing her as he replaces his armor.   
  
It's immensely cold.

“Why’s that?” She reluctantly joins him, organizing the swatches once more, trying to look busy.

“I wanted to speak to you about what’s expected.”

The line confuses her. She looks up to glean his expression but he’s still not returning her gaze. Had she upset him?

“I know that in Altea, after marriage we are to take part in Vigilance. But the Galra would not understand it. Nor do I wish to be away from my duties that long.”  
  
Hearing her people’s customs named out loud is enough to shake her from her thoughts.  
  
“I hadn't thought of that, but, I hadn’t expected us to participate, really,”  
  
“You would not want to be away from your paladins either, I imagine.” His eyes are back but his expression gives nothing away.  
  
“Yes, agreed, I wouldn’t.”  
  
“As much as I would like to honor you and uphold Altean tradition—”  
  
“Lotor, it’s alright,” She smiles again even though he doesn’t and tries a bit optimistically. “What of Galra tradition? Is there something newly married partners participate in that we might be expected to do?”  
  
His face finally gives into a bit of surprise and amusement.

“Dethok An.” He says and then shifts, his arms grabbing the table’s edge to lean on almost casually. “Once sworn, blood partners are sent to an excursion to slay a great beast.”

Allura’s smile falls completely. Lotor laughs.

“Really?”  
  
“It’s to prove their mettle as a united force, yes,”  
  
“A beast? From where?”  
  
His eyes slide away, the smile twitching into something almost dubious. “It isn’t…” When he turns to regard her again it’s with a sigh. “The saying has long since been changed from when we were simple warring tribes on a primitive planet. The excursion now is a few solitary quintents away from others. As for… _‘slaying the beast,’_ ” He chuckles and the low rasp buries deep into her skin.

Oh.  
  
Allura wants to scream.  
  
“It’s an implication none need exact proof of. Some couples bring back trophies. If that be the head of a dead thing they hunted or news of offspring, no one really minds.”

"Hm! Mhm.” She hums, voice tight. “Well.”

“I did not expect us to practice Dethok An or Vigilance since our case is purely political.”  
  
“Yes.” She agrees. Purely Political. Right. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

As she gathers the trims and fabrics in her arms, pocketing the magnets, he straightens, leading her to the doors. 

“Shall I escort you back, Princess?”

“No, it’s alright. I know the way back by now. And I don’t want to disturb any more of your time.” 

“You could never.” He smiles. She's happy to see it after the odd changes in tone.   
  
And it’s just a polite thing to say, she tells herself, just as _she_ had refused to be polite even if she _would have_ enjoyed his company back to the Castle, despite the weird tenseness that seems to permeate the air around them. Or the strange dance of close and far they keep seeming to have.

Maybe this was simple wedding nerves. That was a thing, wasn't it? It had to happen to even arranged marriages of diplomatic notions, not just emotional ones, right?

He opened the door for her all the same, bowing, as she passed.

“Thank you, Prince—Emperor—” She paused by the door, staring at the elegant angle his limbs took as he hung low.

“Lotor.” He corrected and his shoulder hits the doorframe as he considers her. It's a casual enough gesture that she relaxes into a tease.   
  
“Oh stop.” She insisted and he smiled as if expecting this reaction. “If that’s what you’re going to insist then you have to stop calling me Princess. Or else your governess and my governess are going to have to argue about it.” 

He laughed.

“I assume once we are married, I will have to.”  
  
Her hands tightly weave together, right foot still stretched to leave even as she kept her head and gaze at him.

“Maybe. Though my mother still addressed my father as King. There is still manners in intimacy.” Now she really did sound like her etiquette teachers.  
  
“ _My lord husband._ ” He guessed academically.  
  
“Yes.”

He straightened to his full height, leaning out the hall to sweep his arm loftily.  
  
“Then goodnight ‘ _my lady wife_.’”

It’s meant as a joke. She knows it is. But there's something fuzzy that stings her nose and eyes at hearing that. Hearing what her father used to call her mother every morning, every day and every night.  
  
She draws the bundle of clothes to her chest, smiling until her cheeks ache.  
  
“Ha! Ah, goodnight,” She can’t say it, can she? “ _My lord husband,_ ” She nearly whispers it, giggling through the words the whole time.  
  
Lotor smiles wider then she’s seen yet. And they both have a hard time looking away even as the door closes and she continues walking.

When he’s gone she huffs, alone in the hallway and feeling hot, happy, jittery and—

Her eyes find the guard as he stands off to the right, staring at her.

The Galra smiles, big and toothy. “Goodnight Princess.”

Allura glares and hurries away without a response.


	7. Amethyst Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Jessarts drew Lotor getting measured from the last chapter!!!](http://jessarts.tumblr.com/post/176172257413/fanart-for-a-fic-that-i-like-very-much-lilac-and) ITS SO GORGEOUS AND SEXY PLEASE CHECK IT OUT! 
> 
> Also, guys, I can not stress enough that I'm literally crying every time you guys review I'm so happy for the support. Everyone in this ship is just so loving and sweet and amazing thank you so fucking much.

“Ah—Achh—” Shiro paused, hands inadvertently pulling Allura’s up with his own to catch his sneeze.

She froze, shivering at the unpleasant sensation of _wet_ on her skin.

“S-sorry.” He muffled through their fingers, arm in arm as they were.

“It’s alright, it’s technically my fault—”

“Keep walking!” Coran shouted from the other side of the flower fields. “You have to go a little faster than that!!”

They could barely make out his face, just an obscure shape of a mustache, but both of them still sunk at the demand.

“We’re trying!” Allura waved. She couldn't be sure at this distance, but it looked like he was tapping his foot.

They continued their walk, but this time Allura tried to pull Shiro close to her and away from the bushels of persil-berry blossoms that guided them.

“At least everyone, Ah-!” Shiro cringed again and Allura did with him, but nothing came. “—everyone else is doing pretty good.”

They looked to the center of the viewing room, where Lance and Keith stood with Kolivan and Lotor. Pidge and Hunk were positioned behind the center group, each with their own drone, reciting Altean and Galra translations respectively.

“Mostly.” Shiro amended, as Lance pushed at Keith, enough for Keith to push back. They looked like they were arguing again, but she couldn’t hear them from the edge of the room, walking around the holo fields of pseudo-Altea as they were.

And it was a little distracting, noticing Lotor’s head swivel in time with her pace, watching her. She couldn’t see his expression, but he wasn't _supposed_ to be looking at her, even if this was only a rehearsal. He was supposed to be eyes closed to hear Kolivan’s words.

She flushed, hiding a little behind Shiro’s height.

The black paladin glanced down at her, following her gaze to the Galra Prince before she could pretend to look anywhere else.

“He’s—”

The sneeze really came this time, and Allura snatched her hands away quickly.

“Sorry—”

“No, it’s alright, maybe we ought to rethink the persil-berries anyhow.”

“No, don’t—they were a gift from Lotor.”

Allura looked away, heating up in her ears and neck. “Yes, but you can’t walk in the ceremony like this, and they aren’t _that_ important to Altean tradition.”

“I’ll manage.” He assured, his hand taking hers once more before setting their continued pace.

They’re quiet as they round the edge of the room, the gap between them and Coran growing smaller. And while this is a bit silly (the bride and mother’s path is supposed to start far away, and is usually private), it's all they can manage with limited space and she doesn’t actually mind so long as it’s in the Altean scenery.

The skies are bright and sunny enough you wouldn’t know how late it was, or that they were still docked on the Galra flagship. Honestly if not for the stagnant temperature and the smell of artificial oxygen, you’d wouldn’t know it wasn’t Altea itself.

It’s admiring the fake petals catching fake wind that has her accidentally catching Lotor’s gaze again. She looks away, close enough now she can tell he’s smiling, and feeling unready for such an expression.

“Are you…  sure about this?” Shiro suddenly asks.

Allura blinks at him, putting forced confusion into her tone. “Hm? About what?”

Shiro just frowns and looks toward the center of the room. She pointedly doesn’t.

“I know that this is the best way to resolve things peacefully.” He begins and Allura’s fingers tighten in his palm. It’s cold. The metal of the prosthetic not taking to her body heat just yet. “But I’m worried someone might get hurt.”

“Shiro,” Allura sighs, drawing his attention back to her. “I know that it isn’t a very relatable situation, but I can assure you that I have thought long and hard about this decision.”

“I—”

“And I can’t stress how accustomed I am to the idea of arranged marriage,”

“Allura,”

“If things hadn’t turned out the way it did, if the war had never begun, I would still be given to a stranger. Instead of Lotor, it would be some Altean nobility, or an Ulvari heir, or—”

“Allura.” And Shiro actually chuckles, stopping their trek completely. “I have no doubt in my mind that you know what you’re doing.” 

“You...do?”

“Come on you two!!” Coran yells again, but they ignore him.  
  
Shiro’s hands pat hers, a lopsided smile that’s quite trademarked to him appearing with his earnest expression. “I knew the moment you threw me into a shuttle and sacrificed yourself to the enemy that you weren’t someone I would ever have to worry about. No one can tell _you_ what to do.”  
  
Allura blinked fast, biting her lip, confused but flattered. Feeling full, but ashamed. “Shiro—”  
  
“I trust you. I know you can take care of yourself. If you didn’t want to do this, you wouldn’t.” He turned again to nod towards the center. Towards Lotor. “Besides, from the looks of it, you could probably toss him around, easy.”

Allura’s snort is cut off by her embarrassment. They share a smile.

But she shakes her head.  
  
“Then why do you ask...?”  
  
Shiro’s shoulders fall. “I’m not worried about you, I’m worried about Lotor.”  
  
“You don’t trust him?”  
  
He gives her a bit of a wry look.  
  
“I do. I wouldn’t have given him my bayard if I didn’t.”

True enough.

“We don’t have all quiznakking day, your Majesties!!” Coran yells again.

They glare but start walking once more. 

“I’m worried,” He continues, but sniffs harshly, breathing rapidly to avoid sneezing, “That he might feel more strongly about this marriage than you do.”

She laughs. It’s almost reflexive. She’s not even sure why she does, but she’s not really sure what she’s hearing either. 

“What?”  
  
Shiro eyes her with concern. “I’m not saying that's true.”  
  
“Not saying what's true?”  
  
“I’m just…” His free hand grabs at his neck like he’s suddenly unsure with talking. “...telling you because you might not know that he has feelings.”

“Feelings?” Allura clarifies. Her legs feel silly. Wobbly. “Lotor?”

“Yes.” He nods and his voice gets quieter as they near Coran. There’s a redness in his cheeks that might not be allergies. “He looks at you like he _wants_ to marry you. Not like he has to.”

“Shiro.” She says. It sounds weak. Lost. She doesn't know what else to say.  
  
He looks back at her for only a moment, with a determined look that’s also trademarked to only him, to only the black paladin as she knows him now.

“Trust me. I know the difference.”

He looks ahead, but Allura’s stuck staring at him, and then at the flowers that eventually dwindle as their path ends at Coran’s feet. 

“Well. Now that the stragglers are done dawdling!”  
  
Shiro sneezes.

“Sorry,” He waves his arm, releasing Allura completely to finally attend to his flaring nose. “We won’t take that long tomorrow, I prom—ACHchh—”

The two Alteans cringe away from the human.  
  
“Right-o.” Coran eyes warily, before turning to Allura. “Now! Starting with the retiring of the princess status.” He informs.  
  
Allura frowns, letting her flight master pull her hair aside slightly to lift her tiara from her head. It unclasps easily, and she bows in accordance with tradition.

“And we give blessing; ‘our fathers and father’s, father’s, as I stand here today, a father, yadda yadda fathering words and fatherly advice—Shiro, look alive, you’re supposed to be weighing down her train!” 

Shiro looks around at the dress Allura isn’t wearing.  
  
“Right.”  
  
“And then the crown to anoint you as incoming Queen—which we don’t have yet because it needs to be resized, oh bozzlefizz, I forgot to send that over to the Galra—”  
  
She should be paying attention. It’s only rehearsal, but it’s still important. But Allura’s mind is a bit lost in the holo sky above them, her stomach a mess of mush and chilly nerves from the lingering effect of Shiro’s words. She tries desperately not to look toward the center of the room.

“Alright, darling, off to the podium with you! Chin up, eyes forward!” Coran pushes her to the center of the room.  
  
Allura slouches.

_Wonderful._

She leaves the two of them there, walking a bit awkwardly towards Keith, Lance, Kolivan and…

Lotor.

He’s the tallest of them, standing with his back straight and his head high. His hair wafts in the simulation, a white flag of surrender in a fresh Altean summer afternoon. 

He’s… not…

He couldn’t—  
  
Shiro is most definitely mistaken.

Lotor is a Prince. To anyone else, their conversation might seem overly… polite. Or flattering. Maybe even… flirtati—no, not that, but perhaps, _too friendly?_

But that was the way of the court, wasn’t it? Lavish notions of compliments and _‘no, no, after you’s_ and _‘I beseech thee’s_  right? Stars, when she was younger she always thought the speech a bit tiring and exaggerated, even if she enjoyed it now.

And Lotor was arguably better at it then she was! Which was startling for a Galra.  
  
She cringed, hands fisting at her own thoughts.  
  
No. It wasn’t startling _for a Galra_. She had to stop that. That was the point of this.  
  
It was startling because their people had been at odds with each other for so long, and Zarkon was obviously not the etiquette type. It was admirable because Lotor had obviously taken it upon himself to learn the manners of a culture lost to him.  
  
She’s been staring at him. This whole time, she realizes.  
  
But he’s staring back. And while he's not smiling anymore, he still looks at ease. His brows are creased in a slight pinch that makes him look aware, rapt. She’s growing close enough to make that out even in the light shadowing the purple of his eyes.

After a moment longer, his lips curve. Allura couldn’t help her soft smile back, even though it felt guilt-heavy and strained.

But his utter kindness and consideration weren’t special to her. She’d seen him give the same level of showy gratitude and attention to everyone else, hadn’t she?

No…

But, maybe that was because he knew she was the type to enjoy such things and therefore did it for her benefit? Prince to Princess? Right?

Her steps feel sluggish. It’s hard not to stop completely. 

“You know, if you just—”  
  
“Get your hands right!”  
  
“They ARE right, you’re the one in weird armor—”  
  
Luckily or unluckily, she finally gets close enough to hear Lance and Keith.  
  
They’re at least holding hands, standing between the catestrine podiums that represent her and Lotor, but they’re shifting awkwardly and pulling from each other.  
  
Lance falters when he notices her approach and shouts loud before she’s even it made it the full length.  
  
“Hey—Allura—this is ridiculous! What’s the point of holding hands if we aren’t the ones getting married here!?”  
  
She rolled her eyes.  
  
“You’re holding my virtue, Lance! It’s metaphorical!”  
  
“You aren’t marrying KEITH!”  
  
“You’re my symbol of extended trust! A physical show of a noble’s power and assets, their people! You represent the dowry of a princess—!”  
  
“To Keith!?”  
  
“Argh—” It’s hard enough explaining something so nuanced at a shouting pitch without also being interrupted.  
  
“Keith is my chosen Oathsguard, he is equally the representative of the Galra I command just as you are of the Princess.”  
  
Lotor’s voice is almost haughty in his explanation, but it’s strong enough to draw her attention to him once more and the unimpressed expression he wears as the boys eye him with suspicion.

She reaches the podium and sighs, cocking a hand on her hip.

“You’ve already gotten it wrong anyway, Lance.”

“What do you mean!?”  
  
“Once I leave Coran and Shiro, you’re supposed to be holding _Lotor’s_ hands.”  
  
“WHAT!?”  
  
Keith moves aside diligently as the Galra Prince replaces him. And Lance isn’t fast enough in his recoil before he’s snatched in Lotor’s claws.  
  
To be fair, Lotor doesn’t look pleased about it either.  
  
“WHY!?”  
  
“Because I choose to concede my power first, to the people of the Princess.”  His height cranes, looming over Lance. The red paladin squirms, skin golden as he seems to flush red hot.  
  
“I’m not doing this again! It’s already bad enough with Keith! Rehearsal over!”

Lotor relinquishes him.

Allura crosses her arms. “You said you wanted the role I gave you!”

“Yeah, I—I do! But nobody told me Keith was Lotor’s knight!” He points accusingly.  
  
Keith looks sulkily to his left. “Nobody told me either.”  
  
Allura and Lotor share an unintentional frown together.  
  
The Prince turns to regard the boys with a slightly more patient face. His words are softer.

“Forgive me. I had not intended to make anyone uncomfortable. If anything, I had hoped my choice would reflect my want to mend bridges and form truces with those I consider my closest allies.”

Both Keith and Lance are a bit wide-eyed at the statement, looking at each other briefly before looking back. Allura doesn’t blame them.  
  
Keith breaks the surprise with a shaking head. “Not that I’m upset, but are you sure you want me to represent your people?” He questions, shifting on his feet to gesture towards the other Blade beside him. “Maybe Kolivan and I should switch roles. He’s… full Galra. I’m not.”  
  
Lotor’s hand grasps Keith’s shoulder while the other clutches his own chest. “Keith, you are as much Galra as I.”  
  
Allura felt a shiver from the static wind around them tease her skin and leave her feeling cold and warm simultaneously.

She wondered if Keith felt the same as his body seemed to freeze, eyes shiny in their upturned gaze of the taller half-breed.

“Thanks.”

Lotor smiles, releasing him with a gentle look he also shows her. She tries to return it, overwhelmed herself.

“What’s the holdup?” Coran asks, Shiro and him arriving from their delayed walk, arm in arm. They look more or less jovial, minus the paladin’s stuffy face. 

“Nothing, why don’t we move on,” Lotor suggests, coming forward and offering his hands to her.  
  
She takes them timidly, pulling close as they situate themselves beside their respective podiums.

“The swords, please, _children_ ,” Kolivan speaks suddenly, a sounds that makes Allura jump slightly, fingers curling in Lotor’s palms. He flexes against her.

“Not a kid—but yep, okay—”

“Lance, come on.” Keith snaps.  
  
They watch as the two pull the belts and scabbards from their backs, Keith circling around the Prince and Lance around her. They secure swords to their waists. Allura buckles a little at the weight, awkward as it is at her hips. She’s not sure how it's going to feel over a large Altean gown.

“Blood begets blood, but not for those who chose to share it.” Kolivan continues. He raises an arm to them but nods to Lotor. “Emperor.”

Lotor leaves her hands to grasp the hilt at her side, pulling it backward. The silver blade whisks near her arm as it turns elegantly in his wrist. She admires the dexterity, blinking with slight intimidation as he plunges it into the ground

The grass clatters below them like the metal it actually is. 

“Princess.” Kolivan urges.

Allura gives the Blade a nervous chuckle, eyeing the identical hilt at Lotor’s hip.

Well. This was the start of the Galra way of things, wasn’t it?

She grabs it and yanks backward, but it clinks, resisting entirely.

Honestly, it’s just an awkward angle, mostly because of his damned height. His waist is practically at her breast and she can’t exactly pull the length of his sword backward and _up_ at the same time.

It’s definitely _not_ about strength either, because when she yanks again, Lotor’s boots slide, flickering the flowers at his feet as he’s dragged close to her, his knees bending on instinct and bumping her legs.

“Ah—!”  
  
“Sorry!” She releases the hilt, laughing much, much too loudly.  
  
“Oh dear.” Coran titters.

“Nn—” Lotor heaves, and she catches his skin deepening to a flush blue on the high angles of his cheeks, his eyes are wide yellow, the iris small and shocked. His fang is caught on his lip. “It’s fine.”

His hand covers the hilt, stepping back once more and adjusting himself. He pops the blade from its scabbard with his thumb and angles the hilt forward.  
  
She puts her hand back on it, trying to look anywhere but his face, and slides it out.

It’s not the best choice of her peripherals, because she immediately notices everyone looking away as she does so. Even Kolivan. So she looks at Lotor instead, which is also a bad idea.

He’s breathless.

She immediately glares directly at the sword even as his slack expression burns into her memory forever.

The Galra blade isn’t too heavy, and it almost twists naturally in her fingertips, flashing in the sunlight before she shoves it into the grooves of the floor. 

There.    
  
Stars!

Allura looks to the sky to center herself once more.  
  
Their hands meet above the crossed swords and Kolivan steps forward, unraveling a thick but long white cloth. And then the wrapping starts.  
  
Lotor had previously warned her just how long the process was, but she had simply reassured him that the Altean customs of sitting, standing, kneeling, knighting, speeches, drink sharing, and then dancing would be just as bad, if not worse.

Still. It takes awhile for the wrap to encase them completely and it has to be precise. It’s not exactly comfortable either. The cloth is soaked in oils and they smell quite strong. Like spiced herbs and the inside of a cryotube.

The mixture makes her skin slick and hot. Not ideal when pressed into the heat of his flesh, their fingers flush.

She squeezes experimentally as Kolivan continues, her eyes flickering up to Lotor. 

His mouth twitches. He squeezes back.  
  
“UGH. Can I sit down?” Lance calls beside them.  
  
“ _No_ .” The word is echoes by her, Lotor, Shiro, Keith, Coran, and Kolivan.  
  
“Fine!”

“If you sit you might get burned by the flame,” Kolivan warns, not even looking at the boy beside him.  
  
“Are you lighting it right now—it’s only rehearsal—”  
  
A snap sparks from Kolivan’s claw and a burst of blue flames rip into the air, catching onto the bandage immediately. Almost everyone aside from the Galra jump, yelling in shock or stepping away.  
  
She tries to pull backward, suddenly aware of the literal bonfire upon her hands, but Lotor holds her fast.  
  
“Stay close, Princess.” He urges.

She stills.

His face is illuminated a beautiful electric thistle color by the flames and the sight of the sudden saturation of it entrances her. Calms her.

His eyes are amethyst ice. Bright and sweet. Glimmers of light dance in the shadows of his hair. 

“Is this really necessary!?” Lance cries. He sounds closer then he was before. It feels like Coran and Shiro are too. She hadn’t even noticed.

Kolivan is shaking his head. “It is if we don’t want everyone crying like frightened gulls when it happens tomorrow.”

The words have them all relaxing a bit guiltily.

Kolivan looks to her, yellow eyes narrowing in seriousness. “In the ceremony, it will have to burn until it fades on its own, for now, get used to the sensation so you show strength when the time comes. Hesitation shows weakness”

“Right. Thank you.” Allura nods, trying to match the man’s intensity and falling just short of it. Then again, Kolivan might have most beat in that department.

The fire is actually—quite hot.

It doesn’t feel that way at first. It starts with a damp sweat, almost cold, but then it begins to sting in the way only heat does when it’s hot enough to confuse the sensations of temperature. She would think herself frostbitten if not for the warmth on her face.

She tries to settle by stretching her palms beneath the bandages and watching the roots of the flame burn the white cloth into a darkened, navy black. It’s much like watching paper burn. Or watching the edge of a sun sliver into nothing as a moon eclipses it.

“You are to look at your blood mate.” Kolivan states.

Allura snaps her eyes upward, catching Lotor’s gaze and holding it.

They’re steady and unblinking as they watch her, that same glass ice that looks as sharp as the rest of him, a jagged razor edge of a man even in the quiet blur of her Altean fields. 

Her hands curl into his, she feels his fingers respond, nails making imprints into her wrists. It tickles. She shivers.  
  
“Is it too much?” He asks softly.

Yes.  
  
She shakes her head no.  
  
“Can I ask what this is supposed to prove?” Lance blurts.  
  
“It’s proof of devotion. They’re showing how much pain they can withstand for each other.”

Allura can barely hear Keith’s angry explanation, she’s too focused on the slight shine of dewy sweat forming along a white strand closest to Lotor’s ear.  When she sees it begin to form, she almost feels a phantom sensation on her own cheek, sliding down her skin.

Is it really so hot? 

The tips of her ears are burning.  
  
Maybe it is.

She swallowed, fingers pressing further into him. Different parts of her skin beginning to sting with a pain that’s a bit distracting. She begins to worry about the burns, and she exhales in a shaky, uneven way.

“I think that’s enough for a rehearsal, Kolivan.” Lotor rasps. 

“Yes, Emperor.”

The Mamora Blade is diligent, releasing a procured flask onto the flames. They spit and die, a waft of steam more like hot water fizzing at their extinguish. Whatever it is, Allura knows it must not be naturally created.

The remaining bandage is pulled away, and Allura leans close to see their hands damp but unburned. Clean.

“The oil stokes and contains it. It’s merely a chemical reaction.” Lotor informs her, his voice low and reassuring. 

“But the pain—”  
  
“It’s real to the nerves but not the skin.”  
  
“That’s fascinating.” She looks up with a smile and finds a mirrored one on his lips.

She doesn’t even notice his hand leave hers until it catches the sweat before it falls from her chin. 

“Oh!”

Is the fire still going? 

“It will be much more tomorrow when it burns for longer.” He warns.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
They smile, both inhaling the cool air of the simulated fields with slight relief. “Okay! Okay! What’s next!?” Lance hurries.  
  
Lotor straightens. Allura sighs, a bit tiredly.  
  
“They are presented to all as survivors of each other, bonded by blood and flame,” Kolivan states, gesturing outward.  
  
“And we address our guests,” Lotor concludes.  
  
Allura glances at him. “Is that all? Is there anything else?”  
  
He seems to think a moment before looking a bit wary. His hands sweep his hair backward in thought.  
  
“They will cheer,” Kolivan suggests.

“With their weapons,” Lotor adds a bit knowingly.  
  
Allura glances at the others in tandem. Coran shrugs.

The Prince sighs. “It’s nothing to be alarmed about. It’s a show of united force. Weapons are drawn to the sky, shouts are made, declarations.”  
  
“Vrepit Sa?” Lance asks, pushing through to stand beside the Prince and looking suspicious.  
  
“Naturally.” Lotor lets his head lean almost lazily at the accusatory sounding question.  
  
“Lance.” Allura begins to warn. The paladin had been… pushy, to say the least, this entire rehearsal.  
  
“But we’re done today right? We don’t have to see the kiss or the dance or—”  
  
Allura’s heart stops, her weight falls to her feet and she trembles like she might faint.  
  
She’s can't bear to look at Lotor. She just can’t bear it.

But her eyes move anyway, and she sees his teeth grit clearly, his nose flared and his eyes zeroed in on Lance with a look close to panic.

“Kiss?!” She’s not sure if it’s her who asks or Coran, the voice is so strained in pitch. A squeal.  
  
“What?” Lance’s looks confused and angry, turning to look at everyone staring at him.

“This is not their _Dethok An_!” Kolivan is the one who replies, almost furious.

Allura feels like the fire has burned through to her blood at the mention of it. 

“What the heck is Dethok An!?”  
  
“It’s the honeymoon,” Keith says and everyone turns to him.  
  
“ _Oh_ .” Shiro’s brows are almost as high as his voice.  
  
“Honeymoon!? Dethok what!?” Coran accuses.  
  
Keith straightens. “After the wedding, they travel alone for days—”

“Stop,” Lotor commands. Keith’s mouth snaps shut.  
  
“Honeymoon! What the heck, there’s a _honeymoon_ now?” Lance is seemingly beside himself.  
  
“Lance!” Allura is already worked up about the original accusation. “W-we don’t—” She feels her face burn, her hands clinging to her chest in defense. “We don’t _kiss_ —” She hisses the word. “Don’t be crass!”  
  
“What?” The boy looks honestly confused.  
  
“Dethok An!” Coran proclaims again, stepping in front of the Princess. “Allura is going nowhere after the ceremony, it’s Vigilance!”  
  
Allura buries her face in her hands.  
  
“Vigilance?” Keith questions, looking lost.  
  
“What the quiznak is—” Lance starts.  
  
“Hey, guys!?” Hunk calls from the other end of the dome. Everyone turns to him and Pidge waving. “We’ve run out of script!”  
  
“That’s because you’re done!” Shiro answers, yelling over the group.  
  
“OOOOOHHhhhhh! Okay!”  
  
“What is Dethok Un?” Lance questions.  
  
“Dethok An,” Keith corrects.

“Nothing.” Allura hurries. 

“It is not nothing. It is Galra tradition.” Kolivan scolds, and Allura shrinks under his insistence.  
  
“Apre,” Lotor commands. Kolivan’s eyes slide to the Prince, confused, but suddenly silent.  
  
“Ooookayyyy, what’s Vigilance?” Lance tried again.    
  
Coran has crossed his arms, he looks utterly unimpressed. “Vigilance is _the Altean_ tradition.” His chin rises with a look extremely close to condescending. “For two movements, the newly married are separated from each other and cut off from communication.”  
  
“Whaaaaaaaaat?” Lance drawls.  
  
“Coran, we—we aren’t—we aren’t doing...” She tries, voice low.  
  
“HMMMMM!?” Coran’s head swivels ever so slowly to look at her, his hum is loud and deafening.  
  
“Two weeks of isolation?” Shiro questions. “That seems a bit extreme.”  
  
“Maybe it does to you _earthlings_ who seem to kiss each other willy-nilly like a bunch of red-blooded _loose_ —”  
  
“Hey!” Lance points. “Kissing is great!”  
  
“It’s _private_! You don’t just _do it_ in front of people unless—unless—” Coran almost shakes. “Unless you _mean_ _it_! It’s not to be shared lightly with anyone else’s eyes!”  
  
“For Galra too?” Keith asks. It’s soft and quiet.  
  
“Yes.” Kolivan glares down at his fellow blade.

“Whatever man, _that’s_ weird!” Lance rolls his head back. Then his eyes widen and he smiles quickly. “But—uh—Fine! Yeah! Fine by me!”  
  
“Ugh.” Allura steps backward, away from the group.  
  
Coran snatches her arm, “Wait a minute young lady—you’re not out of the snoozle’s den yet!”  
  
She flushes horribly. “Coran!”  
  
“Vigilance is about honor! Chastity! About growing a fond heart and understanding dependence and patience—”  
  
“Coran I’m not a little girl who needs a lecture!” She huffs, voice tight, eyes looking everywhere but at everyone looking at her—  
  
“Coran.” Lotor’s voice makes everything still and they all turn to him as he closes his eyes. “Vigilance is not something the Galra will be fond of. To have their Emperor and Empress separated so quickly when _our_ tradition—”  
  
Kolivan shifts, crossing his arms.

“—dictates we celebrate our union together, _passionately,_ they will think this marriage exactly as it is. Scripted.”

He ends the words looking at the Marmora blade, who seems to relent, looking away. 

Scripted.

Allura sinks in her shoulders, swallowing. 

“But its—” Coran ruffles.  
  
“Why don’t we come to a compromise, that we might honor both people?”  
  
It’s silent around the group once more.

And as Hunk and Pidge join them, looking warily around everybody in confusion Allura realizes that her… post-wedding schedule is being discussed.

Aloud. 

For everyone.

She shifts, training her eyes on the overhead clouds drifting above them. 

“Allura and I will take the shorter excursion for Dethok An—but whilst there, it will be in respect of Vigilance.”  
  
“So, you’ll go somewhere private, just the two of you—?” Lance glared dubiously.  
  
“—and isolate yourselves from each other!” Coran demanded.  
  
Lotor looks particularly stiff. Or what she can see of him out of the corner of her eye does anyway.  
  
“Yes. This way the Galra think we honor them, and I do not disrespect Allura,” They meet each other’s eyes for only a moment before he looks pointedly at Coran. “Or Altea.”  
  
“Hmm.” Coran thinks out loud and Allura wants to scream..  
  
“It isn't disrespect.” Allura urged, feeling tired and a little desperate. “Either of us being gone for any amount of time just delays what this entire wedding is already delaying—the actual _alliance_.”  
  
Lotor holds her gaze with a thin smile. “We can begin work on that despite the circumstances.” He offered, and his eyes went a little tight at the edges. Allura wondered if he was as exasperated as she was. All this after they had already privately agreed...  “It will be a quiet few quintents, Princess, but I’m sure we can manage to work through our allies to reach each other,”  
  
Allura sighed.  
  
“No direct speaking!” Coran demanded again.  
  
“You have my word,” Lotor’s hand hovered over his chest.  
  
“No, no, no, I don’t like this!” Lance began, arms waving about the air.

Shiro snatched one of his hands, giving the boy a stern look Allura didn’t see often on the black paladin. 

Lance went quiet, glaring at the ground.  
  
“Alright, we have an arrangement,” Coran submitted, looking as pleased as he could, his hand took Lotor’s and they shook.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Shiro made a tired noise, looking around the group. “Now that that’s settled, we should finish up here and get back to the Castle. There’s still a lot to—”  
  
“What about slaying the beast?” Keith asked. Everyone went quiet. “In Dethok An, don’t you have to kill... a...”  
  
Lotor’s eyes burned down at Keith until the boy trailed into silence. Confused or not, no one else said anything under the sharp look the Prince cut through the room.

“S-sorry.”

Allura wants to jettison herself out an airlock. 


	8. Periwinkle Blue

“Princess, you can’t just—’  
  
“Coran, I can’t believe you—”  
  
They huff at each other, both pausing to cross their arms almost simultaneously.  
  
“Coran—” Allura’s eyes roved over the empty viewing room, making sure the last of the rehearsal party had really dwindled out before donning the most unimpressed look at the flight master. “I can’t believe you just embarrassed me like that in front of everyone!”  
  
“Everyone she says! Posh!” His nose goes high into the air, hand waving dismissively, “You’re only upset you were embarrassed in front of his royal prettiness Prince Lotor!”

His hands lace together, leaning forward to bat his eyelashes pointedly. 

“Coran!!” Heat brims in her until she grits her teeth and she has to stop herself from stomping her foot in tandem. “T-That’s not it at all and even if—no—I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!”  
  
He looked entirely too pleased with himself, fingers twisting his mustache.  
  
“Y-you’re imagining things! Whatever those things may be—which I don’t know!” She hurried. “Honestly you have no idea what you mean!”  
  
“The lady doth protest too much,” He warned, a voice so sing-song about it he sounded exactly like her old etiquette teachers.

Allura fisted her hands to her side and really did stomp her foot. The Altean flowers flickered at her side. 

“Oh, ho! You want to remind me of _my_ manners? As if I’m the one crossing court lines,” She pointed toward him, jabbing the air. “You discussed Vigilance in an open forum with my betrothed, _before_ , we were actually married! With foreigners about!”  
  
“You can’t out-manner me, young lady! I have been in civil society for at least a few hundred decaphoebs more!” He challenged, “You’re the one who had obviously discussed it with the man privately, _without a chaperone_ , and knowingly called it off! _Vigilance_ !”  
  
“Coran!! _You’re_ the one who sent me to a man’s private quarters alone in the first place to—”  
  
“AH—” Both Coran’s defense and his mustache deflated immediately. “W-Well, you, you—”

“And now you’ve called the action of my virtue to everyone’s mind!” She hurried. “The entire Voltron team is thinking of my chastity!”

“W-well-I—was only—”  
  
Allura glared, hands going to her hips.  
  
“Alright fine! I broke the rules! My ever so humble apologies to your virtue, Princess, for being desperate when a lecherous Galra man was going to take you to Koozle knows where to kill things fresh out of your wedding gown!”  
  
“Ugh!” Her hands outstretched in exasperation, before sighing long and loudly. Rolling her eyes she considers him with the barest shake of her head, before turning. “This is ridiculous, I’m going to speak to Lotor. I’m going to tell him we aren’t doing Vigilance or Dethok An, just as he and I decided together two days ago — honestly Coran,”  
  
“Wait!”

He grabs her arm and when she turns around she’s actually surprised to see how frantic he looks.

“Please Princess, hear me out—”

She whines, already shaking her head.  
  
“You may not think much of it, and believe me, I know it’s not ideal for your situation, and I know that the wedding is only a means to an end for the good of the universe, and I know that you can take care of yourself and have made the right choice, and I know—”  
  
He takes a breath as she gives him a bored look.

Coran sighs. 

“But… this might be the very _last_ Altean wedding there is.”

Allura freezes. 

Coran’s eyes lower and he turns slightly toward the fields around them.

The flowers waft quietly. It’s a huge difference, just the two of them standing silently together in comparison to the bustling party it had been not long before.

“I understand of course, that much of it has to be sacrificed for the Galra if they are to sacrifice things for us, and that the wedding is about the war ending, not about mourning Altea.”

He looks to her with a sad smile. Allura feels her breath thin. The corners of her eyes burn.

“And I’m not worried about the union either!” He urges, hands waving wildly before settling again. “You’re going to be great no matter what. You’re Alfor’s daughter and a great leader on your own, too. Whizzle, Princess, this genius plan was your idea in the first place!”

“Coran...”  
  
“I’m only a teensy bit worried that this will be the last time Alteans get to show everyone what we’re about. To share it with the world after all these centuries before it’s gone forever.” His hands clasped behind his back. His eyes looked shiny.

“And I must confess on my father’s name and his father’s father’s name, and, well, _your_ father’s name—that if it the last Altean wedding happens to be Princess Allura’s, of the royal court of Altea and defender of Voltron, you deserve to have as much of it as possible.”

Allura’s eyes narrow, trying desperately to quell the stinging in her nose and lashes. The heels of her palms press into her cheeks. 

Coran shrugs, smiling wide and looking guilty. “Alright, so, maybe I got a bit excited—I admit I might have made a ozznak out of a thistlequa—”  
  
She can't stop herself from lunging forward at him, arms throwing themselves around the man before squeezing tight.

He coughs in surprise, but his arms slowly pull her hair away from her face, hidden, nose buried in the Altean flight suit. She lets herself cry a few tears, only a few, she promises herself. 

“I’m just so happy for you Allura.” He says quietly and her fingers curl, burying themselves in her father’s royal periwinkle blue and gold. With the actual persil-berries mixing with the holograms of juniper berries, it almost actually smells like home too.  

“I had always dreamed of you having this day, and after everything, you still get to have it!” 

“Oh, Coran,” She says again, left otherwise speechless. It’s useless anyway, the words don’t sound like anything when she muffles it into his shoulder.  
  
His hand pats her head.

When she lets go it’s just to smile at him.  
  
“Thank you, Coran.”  
  
“No. _Thank you_ , Princess.”

 

* * *

 

She has to wipe her face as best she can afterward and she deeply considers heading straight to her room just to freshen up, but they only have half a quintent left, and Allura can feel almost every tick of it shiver through her skin.

So instead she seeks out a specific paladin. 

“Lance?” Pidge asks, the Altean book of phrases she holds taps her chin in thought. Hunk is buried in an identical (but Galra) one behind her.  “He said something about blowing off steam. Training maybe?”  
  
“I’ll try that, thank you.”

“Yep!”

It’s far enough away that Allura can try and figure out exactly what she wanted to say to the boy.

Which is… a lot. Or maybe not. But—it was important.  
  
His behavior today…

Allura folds her arms into herself as she walks.

It’s—not exactly his fault. Or at least, not something he can control. Not when it seemed as if earthlings were a bit more… publicly amorous, to say the least, when it came to their arrangements or romance.

Allura wondered if that really were true. About kissing.

It wasn't as if it was unheard of in Altea either but—well, it was usually for reason. A heartfelt lover's goodbye for ill-fated soldiers, maybe. Or a struggling couple finally announcing a successful pregnancy after a few decades of disappointment. Such things were even celebrated, cheered.

Or there were signs of rebellion. 

Father once told her of a great uncle who had kissed a Ralgorian lover to make a point at an estate dinner. It was admirable, if still quite scandalous.

So she couldn’t blame Lance. Not only for misunderstanding their cultures but for not grasping the specific position she held as princess either.

Stars, she was lucky to have Lotor.  
  
Not—in—well,—in the way—

In the way that he was half Altean, of course.

Because the Galra were already so different. They were passionate and angry, ripping swords out of belts or screaming about each other’s faces through violent poetry… She was lucky they had a similar stance on kissing if not anything else. 

And again, lucky for Lotor—because he was Lotor.  
  
He was patient, empathetic, kind, and obviously, he was willing to sacrifice the ways of his people to better accommodate her. He was considerate of the politics of meeting his allies on their level and also meeting her on an emotional one.

He was perfect. 

Well not, like that—he was—she slowed, hands gripping her cheeks as they turned hot. How stupid. She was doing this to herself now.  
  
“That’s not what I’m saying!”  
  
“I know it is not your intention, so I simply wanted to clarify _what was_ .”  
  
The words— the voice, pierced through her.  
  
Lotor.  
  
Was he still here?  
  
The conversation was coming from around the corner. She froze, looking around her before snapping up straight and rushing to the edge of the wall.

“I don’t know what you're talking about, I don’t HAVE any intentions.”

Allura pressed her shoulder against the metal, sliding out slowly to peer down the hall, almost holding her breath. 

“Lance,”  Lotor’s hand outstretched toward the red paladin, who looks on edge, a foot half-stepped backward.

The Galra is just so much taller than the earthling. Allura can’t tell if it’s more noticeable now because she can see their entire height directly compared to each other, or because for once it’s not her standing beneath Lotor’s looming figure.

“This isn’t meant as a confrontation.” His voice isn’t like what she’s used too. He sounds much more relaxed. Much more dismissive. “But I’m no fool.”

Lance doesn’t say anything.

“It is obvious to me that you are in direct opposition of these proceedings and I know it’s because of your emotional attachment to the Princess.”

Allura’s shoulders pinch together and she almost bangs her head on the wall with the force she uses to return to it. Her face burns and her stomach sinks. 

Oh— _oh_ —she should not be listening. This—this was private. Or at least they had meant it to be.

She wondered if she could run away without them hearing her because she wasn’t sure she could bear listening to Lance’s response.

But he never gave one.

Instead, she heard Lotor sigh and was surprised by herself for recognizing the sound so easily.

“Regardless of your intentions, I am worried your actions are based on selfishness.”  
  
“Hey, listen here, _buddy,_ ” Lance retorts.

Allura cringes. 

“I’m not being selfish, I’m probably the _only_ one not being selfish! I’m the only one thinking about Allura. About what she wants! And! And about what she deserves.”  
  
“Will you enlighten me?”

“Huh?”

Huh?  
  
The question wasn’t angry or spiteful. It was genuine. Maybe that’s why she and Lance are both taken off guard. Enough that she risks another peek out the corner.  
  
Lotor’s head tilts, and his brows crease with a look that seems almost hurt.  
  
“As her intended, if you have any inclination about what you think she deserves, I would see to it that I am educated on your perspective so that I might better serve her.”

That’s it. Finally the answer to why she feels so insufferably heated all the time. Lotor himself. His words. His presence. It’s too much at times.  Even now, and she’s not even the one speaking to him. 

“We-well—when you put it like that, I guess—yeah—okay, fine!” Lance cranks up and his finger points accusatively. “F-first of all—this whole wedding is stupid! You don’t marry a stranger—you marry who you love!”  
  
Lotor didn’t reply.

“Allura should be swept off her feet! Given roses, chocolates, perfumes—it’s about driving up to the movies or giving her those little ‘I love you cards’ that sing songs when you open them or—you know, taken back home so mom could cook her a dinner or...” When Lance starts to trail, he looks around at the floor, “wined and dined...that kind of stuff.”

Lotor blinks slowly.  
  
“These are things the Princess has expressed a desire for?”

“Well, no, not exactly,” Lance’s hands splay his fingers before him. “That’s just what you do. I mean… or—”

“As someone who has not spent as much time with her as you have, would you be kind enough to tell me things _she_ expresses are important to her?”

It’s Lance’s turn to be quiet.

One of his hands pinches his other arm idly. 

Allura frowned sadly, hand sliding against the edge of the wall.

“She… she cares about others. About peace...” Lance closed his eyes. “About others.”

The silence is quiet, but considerably more comfortable than before.

“Lance,” Lotor begins again, but this time his hand reaches for the paladin’s shoulder. “I know it is a frustrating process, but please remember that it was not I who proposed to Allura, it was she to me.”  
  
Lance looked up at the Prince with a look of hurt Allura couldn’t help but share.  
  
“By accepting her offer, I myself am denying the things you speak of. Love, romance, affection in forms of passion—chocolates or perfumes as you call it—these are not something a marriage between her and I will have. Nor will I have the opportunity to have that with anyone else.”  
  
The tips of her fingers feel cold on the metal of the ship.

Her chest heaves. 

“But that is the sacrifice I am willing to make in order to respect what _Allura_ wants. Who am I to deny her the desire for peace, for something as selfish as my wants for romance?”

Allura looks to the floor.

If Lance does the same she doesn’t see it

“I—I don’t know.” He says.

A scrape of metal has her looking up again.  
  
Lotor draws his sword.  
  
“What the—”

It’s fast and loud, sweeping the air with a confident brandish that has both Lance and Allura jumping back with gasps. 

“Hey man, what the hell!? You’re going to kill me over this!?”  
  
Lance’s hands go to his bayard just as Allura almost dives out into the hall, stopping only when the sword flips elegantly in Lotor’s wrist, hilt now level with the paladin.  
  
“Take it.”

She steps backward slowly. 

“What?”  
  
“I want you to have it.”

“But… “ Lance’s hand takes the sword regardless, eyes following the length of the Galra blade back up to him. “This is what you guys just swore an oath on.” 

She’s equally confused, remembering the weight of that sword in her hands, the sound of it when she struck it into the ground.  
  
“Then it is even more appropriate for another of my Oathsguard.”  
  
“What?” Lance questions and he looks almost frightened. Overwhelmed.

Lotor releases the blade’s tip. The weight bobs in the air as Lance holds it aloft. Allura frowns at the sight of the paladin holding a sword at the Galra’s chest. 

“I would anoint you, not just for the ceremony.” Lotor lowered his head, eyes serious. Narrow. “But as someone who has the Princess’ happiness at heart, I would ask that if you ever feel I am not doing all that I can to ensure her best interests, that you amend the situation.”  
  
The sword immediately drops to Lance’s side.  
  
“Lotor—what the hell!?”  
  
“I am giving you permission to use force, fatal, if necessary.”

“Are you asking me to _kill_ you?”  
  
Despite Lance’s apt wording of the heightened situation, Allura actually relaxes. Smiles even.

How genius.  
  
Lotor raises his hands in supplication. His lips amused as he continues. “Should you feel as if I am... currently failing this duty—yes, but I would hope I have done nothing to warrant it yet.”

“N-no you haven’t!” Lance’s hurries, brows knitting together. Then his expression falls, lips pursing. “Oh,” His arms cross. “I see what you’re doing.”   
  
Lotor chuckles.  
  
“Come on man, that was a trap.”  
  
“No—” Lotor’s hand is on Lance’s shoulder again, but the paladin just looks exasperated instead of guarded. “I am truly sincere.”  
  
“Yeah… yeah, I get it.” Lance sighs. “And...you’re right. I don’t like it… but maybe that’s because.. _.I_ don’t. Not Allura.”  
  
Lotor watches the boy patiently and Allura feels a smile on her lips. She would hug the paladin if she wasn’t currently spying.  
  
“Thanks,” Lance says suddenly. “I still don’t like it, but… thanks for, you know, reaching out.”  
  
“Of course.”

“Yeah...but,” Lance glances at Lotor, then swings the sword experimentally. The two look at it gleam in the air above them. “Are you sure? Don’t you need this for the wedding?”

Lotor raises a hand. “There are others. And besides, _you_ need it for the wedding now.”  
  
Lance suddenly smirks, hefting the Galra blade onto his shoulder. “Are you saying, I’m Allura’s Knight in Waiting _and_ your Oathsguard, _and_ I get a sword?”  
  
Lotor bows his head.  
  
“Oh-ho man, Keith is gonna be pissed.”

“I would hope not.” The Prince admonishes. “I don’t think I have enough weapons in my armory to placate every paladin so they don’t start a rebellion tomorrow.”

 “Look, okay, I wasn’t ever gonna—I wasn’t gonna  _do_  anything. And I promise I’ll be good.” Lance laughs, hands raised in a half-shrug. “I get what you two are going for now, I get it.”

“Thank you.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re welcome.”

They don’t exactly shake hands, but as Lance dawdles toward the training room, swinging the Galra sword listlessly and telling Lotor to _‘watch himself,’_ Allura can tell there is a comfortable understanding between the two. 

It’s a relieving sight.

So she forgets herself.

When Lance disappears with a wave and Lotor turns around, his eyes go wide, body freezing.  
  
She should be ashamed but she can’t stop smiling.  
  
“I would ask how much you saw of that, but judging by your expression…” He falters, broad shoulders dropping as he approaches her with a small frown.  
  
“Enough?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
She laughs into her hand, happy and soft.  
  
“My apologies,” He begins and before he can even start the bow she knows is coming, Allura reaches out to catch his arm.  
  
“No—please—” He’s surprised again, but stops. “There’s nothing to apologize for. In fact, I was headed down here for… a similar conversation.”

“Oh?” He smiles, eyes narrowing.  
  
“My… technique didn’t involve a sword but—” She laughs, and he joins with her. The hallway feels warm. Or maybe it’s just him. Who's she kidding? It’s obviously him. She’d realized that, hadn’t she? Her hand slid off his arm hesitantly, slowly. “Thank you.”

His smile goes even softer, a sight that makes her chest ache. Like it hurts to breathe. 

“What I said...” He begins, looking over his shoulder to where Lance has left. He looks back at her. “While honest, I was intent on seeking common ground with your paladin. Not voicing any actual doubts about what we’ve decided to do.”  
  
“I understand.”

His body relaxes slightly but his expression doesn’t. 

“Really, I do. And I’m not foolish enough to believe in those things either.” It’s honest enough. If there was anything in her that thought this was anything but political, well, she had her answer didn’t she?  
  
Shiro couldn’t have been more wrong. And frankly, it’s relieving. Or it should be. Right? Allura shakes her head. “Romance, love, those things—you were right.”  
  
Lotor’s gaze slides away.  
  
She tries to catch his eyes again, to continue to reassure him.

“And I hope you know that I am nothing but grateful that you have decided to sacrifice them with me.”

“Allura.”

She breathes.

It’s always something when he drops the honorifics. And she should be displeased. But instead, it just feels welcoming. Understanding. As if he was finally letting the curtain fall between them and everyone else. As if they could look at each other as is. With everything in mind but no formality. A Prince and Princess still—but equals in their shared experiences. 

“Yes?”  
  
His eyes close.

Allura immediately regrets not being able to see them for his next words. 

“This question comes much too late, and at a time of great circumstance depending on your answer, but are you sure about this?”  
  
“What?”

Her hands draw up to her chest, feeling almost defensive. 

“Are you sure you want this to be the way in which we move forward?” His eyes finally open, but they look strained. Worried. “We would be together not just in the sense of our kingdoms. That’s the easy part. Doing this means the times in between as well. And those times are where it will feel the most like responsibility. Where it will seem the most like duty dictating our lives.”  
  
She’s quiet.  
  
“It is a full-time, detailed commitment for a, at best, loose abstraction of long-term to everyone else. You and I know what we do is not so much for those who live and rule today, but for those who live and rule so much later.”  
  
Allura sighs, shaking her head with a smile. “As children of our fathers, we know this, Lotor.”  
  
“Yes, of course.” His smile is still sad. And not for the first time, she suddenly thinks he’s beautiful. As he is. As he stands.“But as someone over ten thousand years old, I can only advise you that it’s the small things, the details, the in-between, that always adds up until you simply can’t see the future through the present. Regret is a current thing.”  
  
“You aren’t Zarkon.” She says suddenly.  
  
Lotor’s mouth closes, surprised, yet again, by their conversation.  
  
“No… I’m not.” He says slowly, clearly confused. He almost looks uncomfortable and Allura feels suddenly aware that she brought up his father, and therefore his patricide, seemingly out of nowhere.  
  
Oops.

“I mean—” She concerns herself with the walls, eyes darting nervously. “You are— _you_. You aren’t so horrible you need to talk like that. 'T _imes building up_ ’ I mean. As if I hate you.”

“I—”  
  
“It’s so dour!” She urges, waving a hand. His expression is aloof. Cute. It relaxes her. “I... don’t think it will be like that. We...we agree with each other.”    
  
Their eyes meet and Allura can't help herself, she steps forward, hand seeking his to hold.

His fingers slide easily into her palm.  
  
She watches his gaze drop down to the touch, before snapping to her once more.  
  
“I enjoy your company.”  
  
“Hn.” He replies, a noise hitching in his hum. Like he’d swallowed his response.  
  
“So, I’m sure of it. Not only because it’s what we both desperately want—,” She exhaled, shaky but growing excited.  
  
“Allura.”  
  
“I mean, can you even imagine it? After all this time, it’s going to be this easy to stop the fighting? To change things? I know it’s something I would do anything for, but something this _easy_ ? No more murder, no laborious battle, no coup or mutiny. But a happy thing like a wedding?”  
  
“Allura.” He exhales.  
  
“With someone so, _so_ … agreeable? So likable? That’s practically a steal, don’t you think?”  
  
“Hn.”  
  
“And also because I _trust_ you.” She finishes lamely. She’s not sure how to fully express the word. She trusts Lotor’s effort to do the things they envision, trusts his willpower to overcome everything that might happen, and trusts his consideration of anything she might ask for. It’s honestly the most perfect person she could have an arranged marriage with, for everything that means. Politically. _Politically._

“Thank you.”  His words are hot on her cheek.

Oh, had he gotten that close?  
  
The sudden shadow on her face suggested so.  
  
He hums again, strained, and she realizes she’d been pulling his hand in hers, forcing him to bend down to her height as she speaks. His other arm is resting on the wall beside her head, forced to find stability in her excitement.

_Oh._

“Unless….” She started again, lazily, eyes tracing over his body now that it was _right here._

His elbow shook, suspended in the air. The hand on the wall fists.

“Unless you were trying to say you didn’t—”  
  
“No, I—I’m in agreement.” He hurried. His fingers squeezed hers. She has to look at it to understand the sensation. He’s so close it’s hard to keep track of everything going on. Why is so much going on? “About all of it.”

It’s silent.

The adrenaline from her hopeful words is still running through her, but his body language and low voice are starting to slow her down into that shaky, muddled heat she normally has when they’re together too long. Like now. 

So she steps backward.  
  
Lotor straightens.

Their hands break.

“I should put this excitement to good use,” She laughs. It cracks from nerves. “Do something productive—there’s still so much left.”  
  
“Excitement.” He repeats. It’s not quite a question.   
  
She shrugs, taking another step back.

“Aren’t you excited?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He follows her same step, and slowly, they meet each other’s pace to walk together.  
  
“Yes, I am.”


	9. Gold

“Perhaps I should cut it.”  
  
He opens his eyes slowly, shifting his chin in his hand.

The nails through his hair don’t pause, the slight scratches at his scalp a pull of water. The cut of a blade through a current, but soft and unintrusive. His locks pull gently as she runs through them, unknotting strands with little resistance.

“Hn.” He hums quietly, the silence of the room not quite broken by it.  
  
Dayak just chuckles at the annoyed response and he relaxes, eyes closing once more.  
  
_‘I enjoy your company.’_

The corners of his cheeks feel strained as his brow creases, and he tries desperately to focus on the weight of Dayak’s hands as she begins twisting a cord loosely through his hair. And for a moment he almost lets her, he almost has the patience for it.

But his mind is lost in blues. In pinks.

_'Lilac and lush,’_

He sighs.  
  
_Drink deep,_ indeed.  
  
He stands.  
  
“Oh, please—” Her hands falter in the air, strands snapping as he turns from her grip. “Allow me to do _something_ with it.”  
  
“I think not.” He chuckles, passing the woman with a smile.  
  
He crosses the room to the large curtained table, where the sentries had brought in his armor just that morning. His hands dust over the new colors. Blacks and deep purples. It does nothing to take away the resemblance to his father’s as he had hoped.

He flips the codpiece over. It slides away with a clatter. He starts with the wraps instead, grabbing the lengths of them and taking them to the wall. The mirror flashes on at his presence. 

 _Ah.  
_  
His eyes rove over the deep blue tabard, it’s high collar is embroidered with a sliver of silver. Edges of glass holding an ocean back. Sigils gleam at its shore; Alfor’s family crest imprinted on his sleeves.

_Silver is for purity, well, new generations,’_

Of course.  
  
He had already forgotten he was wearing it.

“Give me that.” Dayak snatches the black wrappings from his fingers and he’s too lost in his admiration of the mirror to fight her. “You called me here, let me help.”

“Yes.” He agrees idly and as she circles the material on his upper arm. He angles his head, wondering if he should let her do something with his hair if it would mean allowing the tabard to be seen more clearly.  
  
He had Altean clothes.  
  
He’d found enough of them before. Rich ones, poor ones. Indistinguishable ones. Blues and reds and greens. He’d collected enough to assemble whole outfits if he wanted. And he had wanted. But they weren’t…

They wouldn’t fit anyway.

This does.

It’s undeniably _his._ The waist is snug to his back. The shoulder sharp, accommodating for the curve of his chest. The sleeves thin and flare, hugging around the fluctuating terrain that was his arms. And there’s Galra too. The Empire’s sigil, freckling his shoulders. A tradition to show what family bore him compared to the one he wished to bear on his sleeves.  
  
As Dayak starts the other arm, he feels a little unstable on his feet. But he doesn’t need to be. She finishes quickly and retrieves the pauldrons for his shoulders. He’s sad to see the Altean silks covered.  
  
“Just the arms and chest, please,” He nods.  
  
Dayak’s brows crest, glancing at him but saying nothing.

He knows she doesn’t approve. He knows none of them will approve. But if he’s going to flex his muscles as Emperor to see what it really means, he might as well start with something as un-integral as a few missing pieces of armor. 

After his forearms, he clasps the neck accouterment himself as she snaps his back into place. She arranges his hair again.  
  
They both look at the mirror.

He still looks like himself, but the spikes flaring off his elbows and shoulders make him wish for his own set, as un-ceremonial as they may be.  
  
“Cape?” She asks. It’s a request.  
  
“No.” He denies, thinking of his father and tasting metal on his tongue because of it.

He returns to the table, two swords and their belted scabbards laying beside the leftover armor he rejected. He takes one of the hilts, _his_ , swinging casually. It’s more ornate than yesterdays. The rehearsal blade had been standard, this one is slightly longer, black, with its Galra crest a bright, illuminated blue. The blade has a deeper curve and an embedded vein down its center. A blood groove.  
  
“It’s very well done.” He says, turning to look at Dayak over his shoulder. He sheaths it with a fast snap and sets it aside to pick up its twin.  
  
This one is shorter and silver. It’s light too. There no crest at its hilt. And no blood groove. The blade is dull.  
  
“I can still have it sharpened.” Dayak trails, watching intently as his claw picks at the edge.  
  
“No.” He shakes his head. “It won’t be under too close an inspection to need it.”  
  
Dayak sighs.  
  
It’s not as if he’s not grateful.

Once engaged—by fury, _engaged_ , unbelievable—it would have been nothing but a mad scramble if not for Dayak. Most notably because there simply wasn’t anyone else, was there?

Not anymore.

Lotor wasn’t sure if the woman appreciated being pulled away from her duties as an archivist to revisit her old ward, but if she did, she didn’t say anything upon his summon. And she had little else to say about the entire affair aside from her tutting when things got considerably less traditional.

He sheaths the silver sword and then moves to stand before her.

“Dayak.”  She straightens and Lotor tries to consider his words carefully. “Do not think I’m not absolutely aware of how most of today’s events were arranged. And,” He lifts the blade, “not just the swords. The shipments, the orders, the invitations—it is not unnoticed by me. And I want you to know I’m thankful.”  
  
She tsks, looking disgusted before reaching out to pinch his arm.

Pain stings from the pierce but he just flexes against it.   
  
“A Blood Emperor does not say thank you to those he commands.”  
  
“Blood Emperor,” He says it more to himself than to her. Lotor shoves his gratitude aside and walks away from her to take the other blade too. He hefts the weapons in his grip.  “Don’t flatter, it isn’t like you.”  
  
“Don’t accuse me—”  
  
“I’m no such thing.” He continued, eyeing her with displeasure before heading to the door.  
  
“Lotor.”

He stopped, a little impatiently this time.

But Dayak smiles. Her hands clasped together, and he can tell that she’s suddenly trying to contain an obvious excitement. Maybe one she’d been trying to hide for a while.  
  
“I’m proud of what you’ve won for yourself.” She says. Lotor has to blink to allow the words to sink in and understand them.

Eventually, he nods, biting his tongue on his appreciation.

When they step into the hall he smells Keith before he sees him, earth and soil such a part of humankind.

And it doesn’t help the young man is so short.

Keith’s fist goes to his chest in a salute that looks better and better every day. He admired the sight of it and the matching black armor he’s donned before handing him both swords.

“Make sure to give Lance Allura’s set before you enter the viewing room.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lotor froze mid-hand-off, and Keith’s dark eyes linger in question.

“I’ll let that slide today because of formality, but again, you don’t need to—”

“Right—no, sorry it’s a habit from garrison—

“It’s fine.”

“And Kolivan doesn’t tell me not to.”

“Not a surprise.” He smiles. 

Keith looks worried as he clips Lotor’s belt and blade onto his back. He eyes Dayak nervously. Lotor gives the woman a look. She sighs but turns away.

“Is something on your mind?” He asks, keeping his voice down.

Keith shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“I… had another question.”

Lotor pauses.

How precocious.

“Yes?” He keeps his eyes on Keith and starts walking, aware that he had a wedding to attend to, but not wanting the boy to feel discouraged. Keith follows automatically, steps hopping a little to keep pace with Lotor’s stride. Dayak clacks behind them some distance away.

“What is Prez Vik?” 

The words strike a harrowing image, and Lotor raises a brow, looking at him. “You heard this from someone?”  
  
“Some of the Blades were talking about getting ready for anything crazy?”  
  
“I see.” A slight anxiousness twists in the back of his mind, but he pushes it aside, the idle worry was worthless. “Prez Vik is what Galra call a challenge.”  
  
“By combat?”  
  
“Yes, exactly.” Lotor smiled, eyes softening as he considered Keith. “And it’s applicable to everything, from one’s station to their inheritance. Or even a challenge in political issues. I believe in this instance, as my security, the Blades think someone might claim Prez Vik on my ability to serve as the Princess’ blood mate.”  
  
“Can anyone do it?”  
  
“Anyone can, yes, most… Galra these days only do so if they have supporters to back them.”  
  
“You’re not worried?”  
  
“No.” He was, but what was the point?

Regardless of whether or not the challenger was right about him being an unsuitable match for Allura, he’d fight anyway. Not only because he would have to. But because while he couldn’t exactly say he was the best match, he couldn’t name anyone else that _would be_.

And she had asked him for his hand, damn it all. That in itself should be something to fight for.

 _She_ had asked _him._

By fury, it felt like only a few ticks since she’d knocked him to his back.

_'Lilac and Lush!’_

“What happens if you lose?”

Keith asks out of curiosity, not ill will. Dayak tsks loudly behind them either way. Lotor ignores it, insistent that the young Blade knows of his encouragement for these inquiries.

“If I lose, the winner would be free to take my place as Allura’s mate.”

“What, really? Just like that?” Keith pauses for second and then has to hurry to catch up.  
  
Lotor tries to send him a reassuring smile before looking ahead. They leave one hall for another, heading quickly to where the Castle is docked.  
  
“If Allura finds the victor unsatisfying she is free to counter his win with a fight of her own.”

Keith’s sighs next to him. Seemingly relieved.

He tries to take stock in that. That if any did manage to kill him, Allura might avenge his poor soul should she find the newcomer distasteful. It’s an unlikely fantasy, but an amusing one.

As they enter the docking bay for the Castle, they spy Coran and Shiro waiting for them.

“Lotor,”  Keith questions again. 

“Yes, Keith?” He nods, eyes on Coran as he raises a hand in acknowledgment. Coran waves back.

“What’s a Zol?”

Lotor’s pace buckles in its tracks. Dayak makes a strangled noise behind him. He feels an uncomfortable sensation rush down his spine. His ears go hot. Stars!  
  
To Keith’s credit, he looks as naive as the question seems.  
  
“Ah—” He tries. He really does. “That…” He slows to a stop and thinks of the best way to describe the anatomy of a Galra without sounding un-befit an Emperor.

The silence stretches, and Keith tries to reiterate.

It’s not helpful.  
  
“Some of the Blades from my barracks said it was about compatibility.”

In so many words _, it could be_ , those bastards. He wagered he knew exactly the reason for bringing _that_ up, in relation to his wedding. His eyes scan the ceiling, looking anywhere but at Keith or Dayak. Bless the boy, but this was—

“Lotor!”  
  
“Shiro, my greetings.”  
  
Thank the fury.

“Allura’s in her room still but everyone else has headed to the viewing deck. Announcements have begun for the broadcast.”  
  
On time.  
  
“Keith, would you be so kind as to head to your place and deliver the sword?”  
  
“Yes, si—Yes, of course.” Keith almost blushes, before leaving.  
  
They watch him go.  
  
“He’s not giving you any trouble, is he?” Shiro asks.  
  
“No,” He answers swiftly, ignoring the heat still in the tip of his ears. “He’s a fine man and more than gracious enough to learning the ways of the Galra.”  
  
“That’s nice to hear. I think he’s excited about all this.” Shiro said, gesturing to nothing but meaning the wedding.  
  
“He’s not the only one.” Coran taps his finger.

Lotor looks cautiously at the flight master but Coran isn’t looking at him.  
  
Does he mean the Princess, or himself? She had expressed her excitement yesterday, hadn't she? His palm tickles and he clenches it, feeling his claws inch outward at the flex. He swallows and ignores his wandering mind to move things along.  
  
“My friends, this is Dayak, an archiver of my people and my former governess.”  
  
“Hello,” Shiro smiles  
  
“A pleasure.” Coran bows.  
  
Dayak actually grins. At Coran at least. She steeples her finger in delight at the forward show of respect from someone who was technically playing stand-in-king today.

He huffs, of course, she would like that. 

“She’s here to ensure my side of things. Which,” He glances at the black paladin, before nodding to the woman, “If you please,”  
  
“What?” Shiro looks nervous.  
  
Dayak steps forward, producing a small metal tab arched like a bridge.  
  
“For your senses, Shiro.” He explains.  
  
“It goes over your nasal passage.” Dayak continues, “Like so,”  
  
She bypasses Shiro’s outstretched arm, plucking the tab from her hand and pressing it evenly over the man’s nose. It matches up beneath his scar in a way that seems almost planned.  
  
His head goes backward, eyes blinking fast and nostrils flaring. “Oh—”  
  
“You alright?” Coran asks quickly.  
  
“It should deter the reaction to the fauna,” Lotor explains.

“It feels like I’m breathing through my eyes.”  
  
“Technically, you are.” Lotor chuckles.

Shiro’s hand touches the metal tab, before looking at him, face turning from confusion to wonder. 

“That’s… oddly thoughtful of you, Lotor,” Shiro blinks, “Thank you. I was worried about ruining everything.”  
  
“Not at all,” He bows and ignores the presumption. It’s not personal, but it feels at least a little relieving to see another of the paladins look kindly on him. He stands “Shall we?”

They head into the Castle, but not before Coran gestures the way for Dayak.  
  
“After you, my lady.”  
  
Dayak titters, and it’s hard not to roll his eyes. At least the woman is happily distracted.  
  
Coran gives a brief but happy tour for the governess before he and Shiro leave them on the lower deck to return to Allura.

The first thing he notices about the viewing room is that it’s occupied. He doesn’t notice Dayak take her place in the fray, because it’s simply so large. 

Incredibly so.  
  
The crowds part for him as he makes his way to the center, where Kolivan stands with both his Oathsguard, but the entire time he scans the faces as a slow numbing feeling of overwhelm cools his skin.  
  
He recognizes those he’d officially invited immediately. Generals from his old factions, some from his new advisors, a few key Galra bureaucrats he knew would support him later for the honor, and one familiar face at the edge; Morga, from engineering.

But there are others too.

The Coalition forces are nothing but strangers to him, of course. Those of different worlds are foreign in appearance and acquaintance, aside from one or two he recognized from the outpost not so long ago. 

As he steps up, his eyes find Kolivan’s.  
  
They share a knowing look, before they stand together, gazing into the crowd.  
  
“Tuflak is here, from the kalzek sector.” The Blade murmurs.  
  
“Attok as well.”  
  
Kolivan grumbles.

He’s not sure what to make of it. It could be they were simply enforcing their right to witness their Emperor’s blood mate ceremony. After his announcement of its location, there were more than a few who sent missives about their disapproval, stating that very thing. And as a Galra he understood their anger.  
  
But Tuflak had openly harassed him not twenty decaphoebs ago. And Attok and his squadron had gotten into more than one scuffle with his Generals. Ezor and Zethrid had complained on multiple occasions about it.

 _Former_ Generals.

Lotor frowns coldly. 

“Would you like me to have them thrown out?” Kolivan asks quietly.  
  
“No.”  
  
“What’s going on? Something wrong?” Lance asks, looking over Keith’s shoulder where they hold hands.  
  
“No, nothing.” He smiles at the boy. Lance purses his lips but doesn’t argue.  
  
Idle worry was worthless. Ambush or not, he’d have to wait for their reaction. He sighs and feels a simulated throw of wind in his hair, strands tickling his cheek.  
  
At least there’s this.

There’s Altea.

He takes another deep breath, fooling his heart into pretending it’s real, just for a moment. The juniper flowers wave at him from his shoes, green blurring into reds and pinks. He appreciates the colors in the moments they wait for the Princess’ arrival. Appreciates the blue in the sky, twisting and fading into white and then a shine of sunlight. A glimmer of gold instead of a silver lining. 

What a gift.

Lotor was quite sure he’d marry Allura for the location alone.  
  
Not that everything else wasn’t… perfect.  
  
He turns back to the crowds, milling about as they stand, watching, chattering. His worry about the strange faces among them drifts under a novel happiness at seeing _Galra._ His people, talking with others from the _Coalition,_ under _Altean_ skies.  
  
That was enough.

“ _Col fastem un_ is the act of anticipation, and in Altea—” 

Was that Galra?

His eyes narrowed. He looked at Kolivan first, before looking at the crowd, searching for the odd accent. 

“—it’s a similar act of _gav Uln a notek_ or remembering one's journey.”  
  
Turning behind him, on the empty side of the room, he spies Hunk, reciting grandly to the drone in front of him.  
  
In fact, most of the drones were already set in motion, floating about the room to broadcast images to the rest of the Empire and beyond.  
  
He frowned. He had translation provided for Hunk. Why had the boy spoken…?  
  
Another voice came to him and he turned to listen with a strained expression to Pidge.  
  
“This is called ‘ _Canifest amean latanin,_ ’ or ‘the place of birth,’ where the Princess will start her walk with her mother, meet her father for his blessing, and then be sent on her own to her future, or ‘ _canifest taves kazzifet_ , the place of growth.”  
  
Altean.

Had… the paladins learned the language for the ceremony?

 _“Ast un tassem!_ ” Hunk near growled, arms curling in strength.  
  
Lotor chuckled into his fist, hiding the act from the nearby drones. So admirable. Appreciation filled his body in a cozy warmth. He shouldn’t be feeling sentimental, not now, not when his Empire’s eyes were on him so raptly. But he couldn’t help himself.  
  
He was in Altea after all. And getting married.

It’s odd.

Feeling happy.  
  
He acknowledges the emotion but is no less surprised by it. He had been since Allura had proposed.  
  
It's such an idle emotion, a stagnant one. A feeling that didn’t motivate him to do anything but just… be.

He looks around once more as just that. Happy. Taking in memories and details, looking at the crowd again with less worry, 

A flash of white and yellow have his shoulders stiffen. Anxiety comes back.  
  
The witch?

No—

A chime rang from the caltestine podium across from them, freezing the heat in him and filling him with a cold that shivered through his skin.  
  
“That tassle ringing indicates the Princess,” Pidge informed the Coalition’s broadcast.

“Hark! The mate arrives!” Hunk proclaimed to the Empire.

Indeed.

He turned as everyone turned, the viewing doors opening softly to allow the Princess and her escort to enter.

He catches sight of a waterfall of cerulean on white, gold lined and refracting light as any diamond or treasure might.

His stomach bottoms out. The room is empty.

Once Shiro ties her hair back, she walks left, under the constant mist of a white veil, eyes forward.

Drones follow her, lights flashing. Moths to a flame. The faithful to their deity. He can’t blame them.

It’s beyond words.

“Emperor.”

His fingers curl into his palms, claws out and digging unforgivingly into his skin.  
  
“Eyes forward,” Kolivan tries again.  
  
It’s laughable to think he could look away. Could anyone?

But when Allura’s eyes slide to him beneath her halo of white and gold and stars and light, he has to. It’s just too much.

“I’ll read the passage.”

“Yes.” He acknowledges, nodding, biting his tongue on his apology. Kolivan starts speaking the tale of the first Tal Selva’s. Of the history of the Galra. It’s noise to him.

Lotor’s discipline only lasts until she curves around the room, circling the center with nothing but Shiro to try and guard her visage.

He raises his head, staring quietly.

Unlike rehearsal, they don't appear to be speaking. But she’s smiling as they walk, he can see it past Shiro’s shoulder and the veil, that curve of her lips making her eyes bright.

Had anything felt so unreal?  
  
His chest heaves, a bit too quickly, as he looks backward at the crowd again, at his Knights, at Kolivan and then at Altea, before landing on Allura once more.  
  
He had scarcely believed after thousands of decaphoebs that he had finally put down his father, or had finally taken the Empire under his wing in ways he had only dreamed. Now he was to believe this?  
  
It was unreal. A fantasy.  
  
He hardly notices when she stops at Coran.  
  
“Lotor,” Lance hisses.  
  
He watches as the veil is swept back, floating like a petal down the current of her hair.

She’s crying.  
  
It feels like someone’s squeezing his throat at the sight, but he swallows in the reassurance that she’s still smiling.  
  
She’s crying because Coran is, he realizes. The man’s talking to her, but he can’t hear it. The tiara is taken away.  
  
“Lotor, hey—”  
  
“Lotor,”  
  
“Emperor,”  
  
He turns to Kolivan and finds both Lance and Keith staring desperately at him.  
  
“Come here,” Lance hisses.  
  
Stars, of course.  
  
He says nothing, heat once more in his ears as he steps forward, replacing his Oathsguard.  
  
Lance takes his hands easily, and Lotor’s eyes return to Allura.  
  
She’s walking forward now.

And looking back at him.

Her smile is gone. He frowns.  
  
She frowns.  
  
Damn. A fang sinks into his cheek and his hands squeeze in reflex at the pain and his unbearable nerves. His weight shifts between his legs, restless.  
  
Lance squeezes back, hard enough he has to look at the boy.  
  
He’s smiling. _Lance_ is smiling at him. Pointedly.  
  
He swallows, nodding.  
  
He’d have to give the boy another sword at this rate.  
  
Lotor turns his newfound reassurance to Allura and is rewarded with a fast blink and fresh tears, but a smile too.  
  
By fury, this was excruciating.  
  
When she arrives his own caltestrine bell rings.  
  
Lance leaves him.  
  
Allura joins him.  
  
Somewhere far away Pidge and Hunk explain everything.

But he can’t hear them. Can’t hear Kolivan. And he barely feels Keith hook the belt around his waist. Barely has time to worry that this was all happening so quickly. 

Because his hands are in hers, and it’s warm.  
  
She was always warm to the touch. It’s fascinating as much as it is relaxing, her heat. He’d wanted to ask her on more than one occasion if Alteans ran hotter than most, but was always discouraged by the shy worry that it might just be him.

But there’s heat in her eyes too. A warmth between the blue and pink that isn’t just the reflection of gold from the sky above.

“Emperor.”

Oh, the swords.  
  
He squares his shoulders, scolding himself. Any more of this and he’ll be useless. He didn’t even hear the damn prompt.

He grasps her blade fast, the weight and feel are no different than a varga ago, when he had tested it with Dayak. He shoves it quickly into the grated floor below the holographic illusion of grass. 

“Princess.”  
  
This time he’s ready, thumb popping the blade from its shaft to angle it toward her.  
  
Allura’s expression goes from tense to relief, eyes darting to his.  
  
“Thank you,” she mouths silently, as her fingers curl around his sword and pull.  
  
He holds his breath or tries to. It ends in a sputter of an exhale as she unsheaths him. A shaky sensation threatening to bring him to his knees.  
  
He can’t look away from her, so he focuses on the shade of red in her cheeks, instead of the deft way her hands flip the blade into the ground—or the shine of her lips and the way they looked moving quietly like that.  
  
Useless. Pathetic. He scolds. Lecherous. Focus on the now.

Her hands come back, that heat pulling him in. He steps closer just because of it.

Was Kolivan speaking? He couldn’t tell. 

She was always so… petite in comparison to him.  
  
The colors of her dress bring out her eyes.

Was the veil new? Or something kept by her? Another relic of Altea he’d never seen?  
  
Was the gold meant to complement or argue the silver of his tabard?  
  
And his tabard had the crests—her dress should—yes, on the sleeves, by fury, stars, the Empire’s sigil.  
  
What a sight.

All of it.

A dream.  
  
A wetness hits his hands and her fingers squirm.  
  
The wrapping had started.  
  
It’s slow, precise. Any skin uncovered by the oil would be burned in truth, so Kolivan takes his time.

It would be hard to look away from the process if the alternative wasn’t Allura herself.

She’s looking at him too, quietly at first, before breaking into a smile so wide her shoulders brace in order to hold it. 

It leaves him a little breathless and he almost dares to look behind him to see what it is she’d been reacting too until he realizes _he’d_ been smiling.

His thumb moves over her fingers, rubbing gently, as he considers the curve of her cheek, the shine of her markings, or the twist of curl about the frame of her face.

He’d long ago given up on ever having thoughts about this process.

Lotor had attended quite a few blood oath ceremonies in his long life. But after the first few when he was nothing but a child, a pawn, they had become novelties. Something to take in for what it was, a piece of the Galra he could appreciate but not partake.

But that hadn’t been anything to mourn. It hadn’t even been anything to consider. Had any asked him back then what he might think or feel about being wrapped with his mate, he might just stare at them dumbfounded. The question was too out of place in relation to him to even laugh at.

And now, he was left so surprised and unprepared that he wouldn’t have a response either.

He felt empty but full. Shaky, but solid.  
  
Everything felt fast—but slow. Achingly slow.

Time was such a fickle beast in his mind, moving at an unforgiving pace at the best of times and at the worst, an unbearable crawl. Quintents feeling like ticks from one moment to decaphoebs at others.  
  
And now it felt as if he were so aware he could control the feeling himself.

So he tried to stop it. If only for a moment.

To remember.

If there was anything he had learned after all this time it was to prioritize his damn memory. To let the useless fall by the wayside but cherish the important.  
  
Remember this, at least. He urged himself. If nothing else, remember her.

Her hands curl into his, squeezing harshly, and it shakes him out of the small reverie in time to be ready for the flames.

They bloom in a rampant heat, blue and white. A reflected explosion of the colors she wears that tints her in a way so ethereal it takes the shock from the act away and just leaves the awe.

Allura doesn’t jump away this time, her eyes only wavering against the bright eruption before settling once more.

She keeps her smile, and he shares it.  
  
The burning will... take a while.

He knows it.

Perhaps that’s why he’s so utterly aware of her every incremental movement.

Every shift in weight, every blink, every tug of her wrist, every flick of her finger. He holds fast to each change, worry etching his expression as he looks her over from head to toe, aware that she might be feeling the pain.

It stings into his own skin, through the sweat and the warmth, it burns like ice. Like needles.

It’s pinpricks and itching before it’s a throbbing, stabbing pain.

Allura pulls closer, eyes almost white from the fire’s reflection.

He wants to tell her it will only be so long, but can’t, so tries to hold his smile instead. It’s a weak thing.

Her eyes dart about his face, almost thoughtfully. And for a moment he panics, because if there were ever a time during the ceremony she might have a chance to truly reflect on her decision, it would be now. Now, when he’s right in front of her, holding her steady to endure pain for him.  
  
But instead, she just looks curious. Or dazed. She winces here and there as the flame dances, flickering incessantly.

Lotor can’t decide what’s worse. The sudden sharp cuts of heat into his nerves, or the worthless anxiety of not knowing what Allura might be thinking.

She smiles again just as the light catches the glitter of her skin, where the heat has made her dewy.

He decides the most painful thing is not knowing _that._ Not knowing what it is she smiles for. For not knowing how to control it.

He returns it all the same.

And after a moment he has to look down, has to look at their hands, because through the biting temperature and the slick humidity of their skin on skin, under the wraps, he can feel her fingers card between his and hold fast.

_Oh, Allura._

His fingers curl tightly, just as he winces, biting into his cheek once more, this time for the pain instead of the self-judgment. 

She cringes with him, the flames burning at their fingertips.  
  
Lotor thinks of the other ceremonies he had attended with new light. Had they all been this painful? That was the point, he supposed.

As the sting of heat grows, the flames reduce. The burning point is well past the extravagance of a tall fire, but the after effects are not yet done with them.

She sighs across from him, eyes closing for a moment, teeth grit. Sweat curls her hair, twisting the locks tight to her skin.

She looks…

Ravished. 

He swallows and focuses his eyes on the crown. He hadn’t even looked at her damn crown yet, so lost was he in her face. He barely has time to register that it’s gold before he’s looking at her lips once more.

Or the way her eyelashes cling to each other, wet from tears and sweat.  
  
A line of water drips past his ear to his shoulder and he shivers.  
  
She looks back at him, body shuddering.  
  
Seems they were both blowing hot and cold.  
  
When the flames die, he doesn’t notice until he’s close enough to see himself in the reflected lights of her eyes. Having moved unconsciously closer to her as the fire got smaller and smaller, till it was nothing but a hiss of smoke between them.  
  
It’s as if he’s looking down at her, she’s so small. Stars, fury, she was always so small. It makes him feel too big, too long. A new, visceral feeling for him, who’d always been a runt of a half-breed.  
  
Her eyes go lazy, hands a content warm now, laced together, he lifts them closer to his chest.  
  
He could…

So easily…  
  
His tongue lines the parting of his lips.  
  
“Lotor.” She hushes.  
  
Her eyes dart away.  
  
To Kolivan.  
  
Lotor jolts, stepping back to allow the Blade to grab their hands to peel away the bandages.  
  
“This will conclude the Galra ceremony, making them an official union in the Galra custom,” Pidge says.  
  
_“Ges tak an fastus,”_ Hunk recites.  
  
The ceremony rushes back to him like a crashing wave. And damn himself, of course, what ridiculous folly—others—

There were _others_ present. 

His eyes go everywhere. At the entire crowd and over the drones, a few disturbingly close to their faces and hands. Had he not noticed them this entire time? At all?  
  
Or the Knights? Lance and Keith stand, both smiling, but quiet and attentive, seemingly patient the whole time.  
  
He looks beyond his shoulder to Coran and Shiro.  
  
Coran is crying into a handkerchief, but Shiro notices him and grins, pointing to his nose before giving a thumbs up.  
  
He sighs, turning back to Allura but unable to meet her gaze.  
  
He was useless. Just _useless._  
  
He’d fallen again.  
  
The wraps come away, hands together and aloft.  
  
“Bonded by blood and flame. ” Kolivan begins.  They turn to the crowd.  
  
The faces of the Coalition seem to wake up. Standing on their feet they look lost, or almost surprised, when Kolivan suddenly starts talking, snapping to attention.  
  
The Galra however, look vigilant.  
  
Ready.  
  
“Our Emperor and Empress, Lotor and Allura, of the Galra Empire and Galaxy  Coalition.”  
  
Lotor’s eyes narrow, determination setting his shoulders.

There’s anxiety too, fast and stealing through his bones. Anxiety about the strangers. About Keith’s words just vargas ago. Prez Vik. Mutiny. But he had words prepared. Had a speech for this exact moment, ready as always.  
  
The drones circle and he waits for them to center in the viewing room before he moves forward, lifting their raised hands in the air.  
  
“My friends and—”   
  
He’s drowned out.  
  
He can’t even hear the end of his words. Allura jumps in her skin beside him.  
  
The room breaks out into a deafening roar.  
  
“VREPIT SA!”  
  
“Woohoo! Congrats!!”  
  
“ALL HAIL!”  
  
“Congratulations Allura!! Congratulations Lotor!”  
  
“Vrepit Sa and long life!!”  
  
His face goes slack.  
  
The Galra and Coalition scream and cheer. A few throw some of the persil-berries into the air.  
  
Swords unsheath almost instantly and are raised high, gleaming in the sunlight, shafts of gold streaking across his eyes.  
  
“Congratulations!” Shiro shouts, and he starts clapping.  
  
The rest of the Coalition claps.  
  
Allura shifts beside him and he glances at her in shock to find the same expression on her face.  
  
When they turn back he spots more Galra with tears in their eyes as they hold their sword above them.  
  
Someone steps forward.

Tuflak.  
  
His sword is raised.  
  
Lotor draws Allura close, his hand grasping at her hips to pull her behind him.

Tuflak turns toward the crowd, his other hand meeting his sword.  
  
“Hail Lotor and Allura! Hail our Blood Emperor!” Tuflak’s blade pierces his palm, and blood follows the cut, dribbling down his arm. “Vrepit Sa!”  
  
“Vrepit Sa!” Attok mimics, hand rising in a fast swipe against his blade.  
  
“Vrepit Sa!” Another. Morga.

‘Vrepit Sa!” Dayak.

“Wh-what—the quiznak—”  
  
“Vrepit Sa!” Kolivan yells behind them. Lotor and Allura turn to watch him cut his hand, blood shiny and vibrant in his palm.  
  
“Holy shit.”  
  
“Wh-what’s—”  
  
“Vrepit Sa!”  
  
It’s echoed in front of them as every single one of the Galra follows suit, raising their freshly cut wounds to the Altean skies. Proclaiming him as one true Emperor.  
  
An Emperor worth bleeding for.  
  
Lotor can’t find it in himself to breathe.

“Vrepit Sa!” Another voice comes and once more they turn.  
  
“Keith!”  
  
“Whoa, you too!? What is happening!?”  
  
“Keith—”  
  
Allura’s hand raises once more to the sky beside him, drawing his shocked gaze.  
  
“Vrepit Sa!” She yells.  
  
A dream.  
  
A fantasy.  
  
Lotor catches her smile as she turns back to him, laughing, but drowned out by the raucous yelling of everyone in the Castle viewing room.  
  
He can only stare at her, speechless, as gold washes over him.

 

* * *

 

 

Getting the wedding party to calm down almost takes longer than the ceremony itself. 

And after attending yet another Galra advisor, thanking them for their devotion, for their commitment, Lotor finds himself searching the crowds for Allura.

He passes by Morga as she cries happy tears with Dayak, accepting Coran’s handkerchief. He passes by Attok and Tuflak raising Hunk onto their shoulders as they sing a Galra song for children. And he passes by Shiro letting Pidge try on his nose tab, sneezing the moment it’s gone.

When he doesn’t find her, he leaves the viewing room, surprising himself with how easy it is to do so unnoticed.

The rest of the Castle is almost achingly quiet.

It’s darker too, the sun of Altea a bright, burning thing, even as nothing but a hologram. 

He thinks he might find her in her quarters, and heads that way, the layout of the Castle imprinted into his mind since their walk in what felt like a whole phoeb ago but was only a movement.  
  
He finds her on the stairs of the ballroom instead.

She’s a splash of color. A stroke of paint, sitting like that. A drop of beautiful water spilling fabrics about her feet as she sits quietly. 

It’s cruel to bother her, alone in the refuge as he often finds her. But he’s long ago accepted his weakness for it.

“Allura.” 

She turns, surprised in wide blues and pinks.  
  
Splendor.

Ephemera.  
  
“Lotor!”

She starts to gather herself up and he steps forward, hand raised to stop her.  
  
“No, Princess, please,” He says, genuine. “I don’t want to disturb your time.”

Allura gives him a little grin that makes him feel lucky. 

She stands anyway, whites and blues cascading along gold trims.  
  
“Technically, I’m an Empress now, not a Princess.” She corrects.  
  
“Of course. My mistake.” Lotor can’t deny it. Not when she commands colors to trail from her very form.  
  
She meets him in the middle of the room.  
  
“Should we head back?”  
  
He doesn’t reply.  
  
He wants to take a moment to remember this too. To remember at least the details of her face, should he wake.  
  
When he says nothing she looks away, hands dawdling with each other.  
  
“That went… surprisingly well!”  
  
He laughs, he can’t help it, her expression is too candid not to adore.  
  
“Yes.” He agrees, before turning to consider the viewing room behind them. “Unexpectedly, it went just as we had hoped.”  
  
“I wanted to tell you how grateful I am.”  
  
He turns back at that, eyes wide.  
  
She was constantly catching him off guard.  
  
Her gaze was on the floor, but there was a smile there she was hiding.  
  
“Grateful?” He questions. How could  _she_ be the one to say this?  
  
“Shiro told me about your help today. And then Morga told me of your attention to the guests, about promoting her too.”  
  
“Allura,” He tries, wanting to cut off this unwarranted gratitude.  
  
“And Lance too, before, or the way Keith has been—just, everything.”

“No,” He shakes his head. 

“Yes!” She insists, laughing, “I know you and I are terrible at it but you must take the compliment! And my thanks. Or maybe even my apologies—oh, and my congratulations,”  
  
“Apologies?”  
  
“Yes.” She steps closer, but only paces around him.  
  
It’s a habit of hers he’d noticed. Turning about him.  
  
He wonders if she does it on purpose, to draw his eye to her obvious beauty. Or if more likely, she was just naturally and unconsciously allowing him a look at every angle of her.  
  
He admires it either way.  
  
“Before all this,” She begins, looking up at him from her lashes. They’re still wet, and her skin still shines. “I was… more than unwelcoming to you. To all Galra.”  
  
It was true. But the memories of her when he first joined the Voltron team are hazy in comparison to what he strives to remember now. That smile. The sound of her voice as it curls in her happiness. The breathiness of it.  
  
That soft, unworded “Thank you,” comes back to haunt him now that they’re alone.  
  
_Mm._

His eyes go lazy as she speaks, eyes lingering on her lips before dropping to the expanse of her neck. It’s covered, translucent. Only the shadows of her clavicles visible, but enough for him to admire. To trace.

She’s round in places most aren’t. Soft in ways _he’s_ not. And like this, walking as she does. He can see it so plainly. 

Or her back— _oh._  
  
It’s… Exposed. He hadn’t seen that of the dress yet— but it is.  
  
And her skin—  
  
Lotor’s chin raises, heartbeat quickening.

There are divots, _dimples_ , in the small of her back. Nicks fit for teeth.  
  
He hums idly, fangs teething on his tongue.  
  
“And it wasn't deserved, even if it was understandable to a small extent.”  
  
He’s glad to hear she’s not regretful but is otherwise lost to what she might be saying.

“And after everything you’ve done.”  
  
That’s where he feels he must stop her. It’s enough to shake him from his heat. He does so with his words and his hand, snatching hers at her side to bring her closer to him.

“Allura,”  
  
“Yes?” She breathes. He can hear it rasp into him and if he’s not careful, he’ll fall for this trap all over again, as he had every time before he’d gotten this close.  
  
_It’s not real,_ he reminded himself.  
  
He pointedly kept his eyes on hers and not her lips. He wouldn't try again, he couldn’t. He was older than that, more intelligent than that.  
  
“You can’t say I’ve done anything at all. You have.”  
  
“Lotor, please!”  
  
“I’m not putting on a Prince’s airs.” He almost bites. His frustration isn’t with her and he frowns so she’ll see that. “Allura, this was your doing. You and I. The wedding—these are your ideas. And ones that have brought the Empire and the Coalition together.”  
  
“That’s—”  
  
“They proclaimed me their blood Emperor not because I killed my father, or because I won the Kral Zera, or even that I brought them Voltron or... peace.”  
  
“Lotor.”  
  
“They claimed me that because I married you.”  
  
She doesn’t say anything.

But she’s close. Practically in his arms now as he looks down at her. 

She’s small.

He swallows.

It’s hard to focus on the point of this, of political benefits and peace treaties, when she’s been so unendingly kind to him. And so unendingly agreeable. That she even thought to marry him. 

Marry.  
  
_They were married._  
  
He was holding his wife.

His hands tremble.  
  
He laughs.  
  
“What?” she asks, looking embarrassed.  
  
He shakes his head. “I simply…”  
  
“What?”  
  
He sighs.

“I’m… overjoyed. Allura.”  He releases her, finally. “I have never received anything so easily. “ He tries to explain.

He means that nothing was ever given to him. Not without a fight.  
  
And yet she offered.

“You are?”

He laughs again.

Was this dream over yet? Would he one day, whilst enjoying talking to her, jolt out of bed, still on the fringes of exile and called in by Haggar to his father’s place?

“I am.” He concedes. “I am the one who is grateful. Who is… thrilled.”  
  
It’s the right word. And his hands can’t help but take hers again, aware that everytime he leaves them he just wishes to be back.  
  
“You mentioned being excited before, it is I who am now.”

“Oh?” 

The red in her face is delicious.

“I am. I can not think of anything we can not do, now that we are together. Especially if your obvious genius in political and diplomatic matters continue.” It’s true, but he lays it on thick just to flatter her. Just to see her laugh.  
  
She does.  
  
It makes him feel lighter then he has in some time. Too long.

“But, it isn’t just that.”

He says it without thinking, which is a scary thought in itself. To be caught so unprepared for an experience that his reactions to it were purely instinctual.  
  
Not even the fight with his father was reactive. Not after dreaming about it for so long. Maybe the betrayal of his Generals to some extent, but even that had always been a considered possibility.  
  
If a disappointing one.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
He’s drawn back to her eyes, curious and patient.  
  
Right. He had said it. Of course, he would have to explain.

His fingers lazily weave and unweave with hers, fidgeting. His tongue is loose in his mouth, throat constricting in order to stop himself from saying too much.  
  
“I can not…” He begins and has to look away. “I can not understate how much I never considered this turn of events.”

“What turn of events? The alliance?” She guesses, a sophisticated brow looking dubious. 

He wants to laugh at how sweet her assumption is. And what an easy way out it would be to take it.

“No, getting married at all, Allura.” He explains instead, leveling with her with a frown.

Her fingers squeeze his. 

“But, why?”

She looks honestly confused. It’s surprising. 

“Because I am over ten-thousand decaphoebs old and no one has ever sought to ask. Because my father is Zarkon, a deity to some or a tyrant to others. Because my mother is Honerva, a foreign scientist, and a mystery.” He sees her try to interject but continues, shaking his head, “Because I am too Altean for any Galra, and too Galra for anyone else—because I am a Prince, because I am an exile—my list is overflowing with reasons should you care to take your pick.”  
  
“Lotor.”

She looks sympathetic, bless her. 

“These aren’t things I acknowledge with any spite, Princess,” He reassures, looking away in thought, at the ground around them, then the ceiling. Truly, even in these moments, he would never tire of looking at the Castle. It’s a nice distraction from what he’s saying. What he’s admitting. “They are all notions I have long since come to terms with, but in such a way that I am left… bereft of reaction to actually being married now, to you, _you_ , Allura, of all people.”

“Of all people?” Her tone has gone down.

He falters.

He’s been talking too much.  
  
“It’s…”  
  
“What is that supposed to mean?”  
  
He doesn’t blame her slightly judgmental look.  
  
It’s endearing, the side of her so unapologetically… _princess._ He can’t help but grin at it.  
  
“Not what you think.” He teases.  
  
She looks away. _Pouting._ Adorable.  
  
“I mean only that…”  There was no going back now, was there? He’d talked himself into vulnerability. He would own it.  “You’re beautiful.”

The slowness with which her eyes reach him once more is painstaking.

But she doesn't say anything.

He’s not sure if he hates that or is relieved by it.

“That may not be the most… diplomatic reason.” He admits, chuckling.

Her eyes lower to his lips.  
  
_No._

He’s dreaming that. 

Don’t fall for that again. _Not again._  
  
“But it is not any less true, just as I am shallow enough, or perhaps, not foolish enough to have it go unnoticed.”  
  
“Lotor.”  
  
“And more then that, you are…”  
  
Kind. Compassionate. Intelligent. Witty. What would be the best attribute to reveal? All of them are pretty incriminating about his motives.  
  
He sighs.  
  
“What about you?” She suddenly says.  
  
He blinks, once more lost to her spontaneity.

“Me?”  
  
He nearly looks down at himself, looks at his too-long arms, too-long legs, and his scrawny-yet-bulky-form. A mismatched mess of characteristics that left him not enough and yet too much all at once.

He swallowed.  
  
“You’re, you are—”  
  
_“VIGILANCE!”_  
  
The shout is so loud they cringe against each other, shutting their eyes and turning to the opening of the ballroom to spy Coran, hurrying towards them with a pointing finger.  
  
_Oh, no._

Allura’s hands escape from his and he allows her, face falling in slight expectation of an oncoming storm. His hands lower slowly. Resigned.

“This is not allowed! You two can’t sneak off on me like I would forget! It’s Vigilance!!” The last word is a hiss that echoes past Coran’s finger, as he pulls it up to his lips and mustache.  
  
“Coran, don’t be—”  
  
_“SSSHhhHHHHHHhhhhh—”_  
  
The flight master cuts between them to hush the Princess, her face going screwy at the action.  
  
“We were only—”  
_  
_ _“ShhhHHHHHHhhh!!”_ _  
_ _  
_ Allura looks about as frustrated as can be imagined, hands fisting at her sides and ruffling the skirts of her dress.  
  
“It's _Vigilance_. Starting now there is to be no chit-chat, no gossip, and no missives, and no late-night quickie comm-calls between the two of you. And once you leave for Dethok An tomorrow that rule is to continue!”   
  
“Coran, perhaps if—” He begins.  
  
_“Vigilance!”_ Coran stops him, finger to his lips, mustache shifting. Lotor raises his hands in submission.  
  
The man has a strange effect of making him feel like a teenager all over again, in trouble for something silly and immature. A feeling lost to him by at least 9 thousand deacaphoebs. He’s like Dayak in that way.  
  
“How are we supposed to travel like that!!?” Allura rushes, speaking past another _SHhhhhHhhhhh!_ _  
_ _  
_ “You two don’t need to make a peep just to pack up some clothes!” He points out, hands on his hips. He eyes them both carefully. “I’ve been around the block a few times, I know a couple of sing-song-seasonal slew horned Seabees when I see them.”

It’s nonsense, but the implication is enough for Lotor to feel slightly and look away.

He imagines Allura does the same when Coran lets out a grumbled “Ahem—I thought so.”

Damn. He’d been avoiding the realization that he would even be… having, a Dethok An. Or at least, the entire Empire would believe he was having one when he was, in reality, heading to a remote location to shut himself in solitary for a few quintents. 

He could already feel the inevitable teases from advisors when he got back. Hitting him on the shoulders and asking, _“How high is her battle cry, my Lord?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Wonderful._  
  
“Now _Vigilance!_  Off with you!”

Coran actually pushes him.

Or attempts too. If there is any strength behind the flight master’s jabs at his side he doesn’t feel them. 

“You aren’t supposed to be seeing each other either! I’m already too lenient!”  
  
Lotor sighed, stepping reluctantly backward. Alura follows them hastily looking crestfallen.  
  
“Coran at least let me say—” She tries.  
  
“ _ShhHhhHHH!_  Allura!! _Vigilance!!_ ”  
  
“Goodbye—” She squeaks.  
  
“ _SSSSSHHHHHHHH_ !!!"  
  
Lotor gives her a thin smile over Coran pushing him, throat tight as he takes in the sight of her, looking embarrassed but beautiful.  
  
He swallows.  
  
Damn it all.

“Goodnight, lady wife.” He nods.

He’s rewarded with a breathtaking smile, gilded in blues. In pinks. In gold. 

And a whiny, hasty, “ _ShhhhHH!!!! Vigilannceeeeee!_ ”  
  
He rolls his eyes.  
  
_Vigilance._  
  
The word is quickly becoming a curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All credit for Coran x Dayak goes to the Lotura discord. You know who you are! Thanks! XD


	10. Viridian Ochre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shout out to [Ofthewild](https://ofthewild.tumblr.com/post/176575069988/a-work-in-progress-doodle-of-a-scene-in-lilac-and) and [Mistiqarts](https://mistiqartsillustration.tumblr.com/post/176454616084/there-are-divots-dimples-in-the-small-of-her) for doing sketches of the wedding!! THEY ARE SO CUTE AND SEXY RESPECTIVELY!! 
> 
> Honestly guys the amount of support this silly fic has just floors me!! THANK YOU so much!!

“Think of it as a vacation.”  
  
When she frowns, Shiro gives her a timid smile.

“Come on, you gotta admit you need a vacation.” 

“I’m not familiar with the term.” She pointed out.  
  
“Oh.” His shoulders fell. The supply crate in his hands shifted as he considered. “It’s like a… getaway?”  
  
She shook her head.  
  
“It’s when you have a job, but accrue work hours to spend uh… away, or… geez…”  
  
“He means like a holiday, but a personal holiday,” Pidge says. “This is all set, by the way!” She pats the dashboard of the shuttle where one of the Castle’s comms is tacked onto the Galra ship’s interface. It looks odd.  
  
“Thanks, Pidge.” Shiro nods.  
  
“I think it's called a _feriae,_ right?” Pidge asked Allura.  
  
She smiled. “Oh, yes! I see what you mean. But… we really don’t do personal… holidays? Unless you mean my Natalday. But all Alteans still participate.”  
  
“Your birthday is a national holiday?” Shiro asks, brows shooting up.  
  
“World holiday Shiro, Alteans don't have separate countries.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“I _am_ a Princess,” Allura reminded gently. “But that’s exactly why I don’t have holidays. I can’t… _vacation_ my title.”  
  
Shiro and Pidge eye each other at the word’s use.  
  
“No?”  
  
“It’s more like, ‘you can’t take a vacation as a princess.’” Shiro turned away, lifting up the crate and sliding it in the upper storage racks. “Which I understand, but what about Vigilance? Isn’t that a vacation?”  
  
“No.” Allura frowned again. “The two movements of separation aren’t spent in isolation like Dethok An seems to be.”  
  
“Well, maybe you’ll luck out then.” Shiro nods out the deck of the shuttle. “If he successfully negotiates it down to five days instead of two weeks.”  
  
They all turn to look out the viewport across the docking bay where Lotor stands with Coran, his hand raised in an explanatory gesture, mouth moving quickly.  
  
Coran is tapping his foot.

She’s technically not supposed to be looking at him and out of instinct almost turns her head away in embarrassment when she spots them. 

“I-is that what he’s doing?” She asked nervously, glancing at Shiro beside her.  
  
He considered her. “I guess you wouldn’t know. Yeah. He mentioned that this morning.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
He looked… well, Allura wasn’t sure if he was supposed to look any different. She was sure _she_ didn’t. But she also wasn’t sure if _she_ was supposed to feel any different once married. Maybe because it was a marriage of diplomacy.  
  
She felt like her chest was always tight and her head was much lighter. Like she was taking in too much air.  
  
Was that it?  
  
“Hey, where should I put these?”  
  
Hunk walked up the ramp with two chests in his arms, looking around the shuttle.  
  
“Oh, Hunk, thank you!” Allura hurried over to take one from him, leading him. “This way, up here with the rest of the supplies.”

“Will this be enough Princess? It doesn't seem like much.” Hunk asked. Shiro and Pidge made space for them to pack.  
  
“I’m told that there’s more already there.” She explained. “Lotor sent some people ahead to ready the place.”  
  
“Oh, okay.” Hunk said, arranging the crates before looking at her with a smirk. “So, it’s gotta be like a mansion? Right?”  
  
“Ah…”  
  
“Or a castle? The Galra seem more like castle types.” Pidge says.  
  
”Come on! It’s Lotor! He’s a classy kinda guy.” Hunk urged. “He’s gotta have a mansion with shiny floors and butlers who bring you cheese plates or grapes.”  
  
“Butlers!” Pidge said, her tone disagreeing completely.  
  
“Or little pastries. Cannolis. Or empanadas.” Hunk trailed. He wasn’t really looking at them anymore.  
  
Shiro shook his head.  
  
“Is there anything else we can help with, Princess?”  
  
Allura appreciates him then, giving the most honest smile she can. “No, really, thank you all for your help, but no, it’s alright.” She puts a hand on his arm but looks to Pidge and Hunk as well. “If anything, I’m sorry you can’t come with.”  
  
“It’s alright.” Pidge waves. “We have plenty to do here.”  
  
Hunk sighs. “Says you. You’re excited to have homework. I could have used a vacation.”  
  
Allura enjoys hearing the new vocabulary so soon and chuckles at his expression.  
  
“What homework?” Shiro asks.  
  
“Lotor asked if Hunk and I would help the survey teams with the tracking tech-Oh, that reminds me—” She cuts off suddenly, hands diving into her pocket and shuffling frantically before pulling out and diving into the other. She looks up at Allura. “Am I supposed to give this to you, or to Lotor? He didn’t say.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Pidge pulls out a small chip, a Galra archive file the size of a thumb. “The broadcast recording of the wedding.”  
  
Allura blinks at the object.  
  
Oh.  
  
Of course, they had recorded it. She knew that. Technically the whole galaxy had seen the ceremony. That had been the point.  
  
“I should probably give it to the right person, considering you guys aren’t actually gonna… you know, talk. Or see each other.”  
  
“Me!” Allura snatches the chip quickly. Her voice tight and her smile maybe a little too big. “It’s for me, yes, thank you.”  
  
“Great!”  
  
“I don’t get it.” Hunk said suddenly. They turned to consider him, seemingly back from his reverie about butlers and empanadas. “Vigilance. What difference do two weeks make if you’re already married?”  
  
Allura frowned heavily. “Well…”  
  
“I was wondering about that, but none of the Altean had any translational meaning.” Pidge tilted her head.  
  
“Or the silence,” Shiro added. When Allura looked at him he looked distant. “The silence and isolation seem extreme.”  
  
“It’s a tradition to teach you about.” Allura tried, hands pulling apart, “How distance can’t actually determine one’s feelings.”  
  
Shiro shifted beside her, sighing in a lackluster sing-song. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”  
  
“Yes, exactly that!”  
  
“Oooooooohhhhh.” Hunk drawled.  
  
“It’s about building patience and a fondness for what you might have missed during courtship.” She smiled—before blinking into a frown. Her ears grew hot. “It’s also supposed to dissuade… more… unchaste people who might’ve rushed to marry someone only to… to—”  
  
“Reap the spoils?” Pidge suggest through grinning.  
  
Allura makes a face.  
  
Pidges starts laughing.  
  
“Oh man,” Hunk says.  
  
“That… actually makes sense.” Shiro concedes. “That’s kinda the opposite of a honeymoon on earth. Which is… well, exactly that.”  
  
Allura flushes, looking away. “Thankfully for us, we aren’t participating in any of that. Or Dethok An.”  
  
“Oh, so you’re not going hunting for monsters?” Pidge asks, honestly confused.  
  
Allura shakes her head quickly, arms crossing and lips pursing. She almost wished the Prince had never told her about the double meaning. She wasn't sure she could handle so many well-intentioned unintentional innuendos.

“Hey, Allura?”

They all turned to the open ramp once more. But this time it was Keith.  
  
“We’re all up here, Keith,” Shiro called.  
  
He spotted them quickly enough, “Lotor told me to warn you that he’s coming in.”  
  
Everybody looked at her.  
  
She faltered.  
  
A tingle seemed to start at her toes. All this running around and being wary of each other was already making her anxious and they hadn’t even left yet. In the traditional sense, it wouldn’t have been a problem. They would have already been secluded away by their parents.  
  
But they didn’t have any of those.

Well. They had _one_. 

“D-did he negotiate the time down to five quintents?” She asked quickly.  
  
“Uhhhhh…” Keith trailed, shoulders slowly drawing up. “He didn’t say.”  
  
There was a loud knock that clanged through the metal of the ship. It made them all jump.  
  
“Geez!” Hunk exclaimed.  
  
Keith glanced back before looking at her again.  
  
“Allura—”  
  
“Well, where am I supposed to go!?” She yelped, hands curling in the air.  
  
“I don’t know!”  
  
“Maybe just sit at the dash—”  
  
“Get behind me!” Hunk suggested.  
  
It was Shiro who saved her, pulling out the right pilot’s chair and helping her into it, just as footsteps clacked against the floors. Familiar footsteps.  
  
Allura sat quickly, leaning forward to look awkwardly out the viewport, hands blocking her peripherals.

It went quiet. 

“Uh…”  
  
“Hey, Lotor.” She heard Hunk say.  
  
“Hi.” Pidge.

Maybe Shiro just nodded or waved, she didn’t hear anything from him.  
  
Lotor didn’t speak.

“Okay, cool, hope you guys have a fun time—seperately! Bye! Bye Allura!” 

Allura raised a hand above her head to wave her fingers as she listened to Pidge rush off, hurrying down the ramp.  
  
“Have a nice time! And… congratulations!” Hunk followed.  
  
She felt Shiro shift behind her.  
  
“Send us a communication when you two land.” He said. “Um. Separately. Is fine.”  
  
Silence.  
  
Allura cringed, sweating uncomfortably. It was like this pressing weight. This unspoken… unnamed… dead, air.  
  
It was terrible.  
  
“I’ll talk to you soon Allura, I’ll call you tomorrow about the Coalition meeting,” Shiro said, turning to pat her shoulder. He leaned down to give her a smile she could see.  
  
She nodded.  
  
When he left, she heard him go, pausing just for a second.  
  
“Thank you Lotor, for everything you’ve done for the Princess.”  
  
She listened to the soft ruffle of movement as she blinked at the empty docking bay. Pidge and Hunk ran by to wave at her. She waved back.  
  
“Same to you Keith, call me when you and Lance are headed back from your escort mission. And stay vigilant.”  
  
“Thanks, Shiro.”  
  
He left.  
  
At least Keith was there.  
  
“I should… head to Lance and the Red Lion.” She could already hear his backward footsteps.  
  
Oh no.  
  
“We’ll follow you when you launch, si—Lotor—sorry.”  
  
He left too.  
  
Allura’s hands pressed harder into her cheeks as she stared outside.  
  
There was only a soft shuffle. A quiet movement. And the somber sound of the humming shuttle’s terminal.  
  
Honestly, it was a good thing they were going to a place that would do the separating for them. The short trip there was turning out to be the hardest part.  
  
The second pilot’s seat beside her clicked, a shadow crossed the terminal.  
  
She swallowed. How was this so unnerving? It was only Lotor. Right?

Only. She almost rolled her eyes but stopped herself.  
  
A soft thud followed a shift of fabric and then nothing.  
  
“Hm.”

Her fingers split and she moved an inch just to peek.  
  
He was looking at her.  
  
“Oh!”  
  
His hand rose quickly, extending a long finger to press at his lips.  
  
_Shhh._  
  
She covered her mouth.  
  
His eyes flickered over her face before a grin formed gently behind his finger, one as sharp as his claws.

Heat bubbled from her lap to her cheeks, burning her neck and making her tense.  
  
She let her hand go to show him her own smile. Shaky and small.  
  
“Hm.” He hummed again, eyes lazy and a piece of his white hair falling to his nose.

“Cheating already!”  
  
A flimsy storage cover sliced through her vision and thudded against the dash as if a door had slid shut between them.    
  
“Cor—!!”  
  
“VIGILANCE!!” Coran hushed her, glaring as he struggled to jam the lightweight material onto the controls to separate them.  
  
“Th—”  
  
“Allura, this is part of the deal!” He hurried. A tear ripped through the air as Coran stretched out a roll of sealant adhesive, hands stretching wide from the ceiling to the floor. “I’m already making a big sacrifice! If Alfor were here it would be a different story, but seeing as the Alliance is more important I see the Prince’s point.”  
  
She looked to Lotor but only saw cheap metal. Right. Obviously.  
  
“So as long as you two play the part and honor Altea, you’ll be back here in no time.” The adhesive ripped again. He wrapped it frantically around the signal tower to anchor the impromptu screen.  
  
“Wou—”  
  
“Play the part!” He hissed, eyes wide. When she said nothing he continued. “Now, when you get there, stay on the ship. The boys will be by to take you inside the house and to your quarters, _one at a time_ , where you will stay, _by yourselves_ , for six quintets!”  
  
_Six!_  
  
He’d done it!!  
  
“Stop smiling!” Coran pointed.  
  
She covered her mouth. She hadn’t even known she had.  
  
“No funny business! It’s Vigilance we’re talking about and trust me, I have the spirit of a wozzlefig hen! I’ll know when my figs are fleeing their nest! ...so to speak.”  
  
Allura sunk in her chair, leaning backward on the dash to glare at Coran properly.  
  
She wondered if Lotor was even listening.  
  
She hoped he wasn’t.  
  
“Now.” Coran finally settled, shoulders and mustache lowering. “Have a good time, Princess—Empress! Ancients, that will take getting used to!”  
  
She shook her head. Mouthing ‘Don’t’ to her flight master with a smile and leaning forward.  
  
He met her, arms stretching past the chair for a hug.  
  
“Have a good time Princess. I’ll talk to you soon.” He said gently into her hair.  
  
She held him maybe a bit longer then she should, sure to whisper a very soft, “Thank you, Coran.” They broke apart shortly after, both aware if there was a repeat of yesterday they might start crying all over again.  
  
“Right-O!” He huffed, turning.  
  
His eyes slid to the left and he leaned in enough that she couldn’t actually see him.  
  
“None of this Dethok An-ing, got it!? I’ll be waiting for your call as well Emperor!”  
  
Allura slid in her seat, hands pulling at her hair.  
  
“Good! Now have a good _QUIET_ time!” He hurried.  
  
It didn’t take him long to appear through the viewport, standing with the others.

She waved as they all did, sighing heavily as she leaned close. 

It was almost… well, it would be the first time she’d leave them. Wouldn’t it? They had hardly spent any time away from each other since… since she’d woke up even. She wasn’t sure their rendezvous with the wormhole really counted.  
  
Actually, yes, barring life-threatening situations where ‘alone time’ wasn’t really a priority, this would be the first time they’d be apart.

Her teeth caught her lip, eyes blinking. 

She waved harder, even as she felt the shuttle’s lift retract and the engine below them whir.  
  
Lights flickered across her half of the terminal to indicate the bay doors opening.  
  
She looked up to see the metal retract in front of them, to see stars blink into view.  
  
A pinging sounded to her right, and a screen popped open from the notifications on the terminal's screen.

 

> |.938Pilot.R6r.: Launching Status: 1.  
>  >Ready?

Allura shivered. Just a single word through the silence. But she could practically _hear_ his voice in her head say it. Asking. _Ready?_  
  
She glanced warily at the taped up metal between them, just for a moment, before turning back to the screen and sliding her fingers across the holo.

 

> |.232Pilot.R7r.: >Yes.

 

* * *

 

  
Stars.

After the initial varga of nervous shifting and glancing at the barrier between her and her co-pilot, the journey just got…

Boring.

More or less, anyway. Maybe it was the silence but every noise seemed so accentuated but so intermittent that it practically marked each passing tick. 

The planet Lotor had routed wasn’t actually that far. In fact, the distance scale was on her side of the viewport terminal, so if she wasn’t already counting the clock... She was definitely counting every meter.

There was also… 

“Hn…” The metal sighed beside her, long and lengthy. A shuffle of boots scraped the floor. A stretch maybe, of the length of him pulling at muscles. Slouching? Allura sunk in her seat, head heavy in her palm as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried _not_ to imagine Lotor with his legs stretched as far as they could go, yawning wide enough to bare fangs or dragging his claws through his hair— _oh._

There was also that.

It was definitely the silence. 

Each noise seemed so completely pronounced, it was almost excruciatingly loud even when it was the barest sigh or shift.  
  
It also made everything sound…

_Crass._

Allura flushed, staring at her lap.

Vigilance hadn’t actually made her ‘heart grow fonder,’ as Shiro had put it. Instead, it had just made her appreciate the conversation she had taken for granted. 

In fact, she regretted not talking to Lotor as much as she could have. She’d willingly ask him the most embarrassing things so long as she didn’t have to listen to his every other exhale. She’d ask him what he thought of her ceremony dress, or if he’d minded holding her hand—or fizzlewig! She’d ask him what he wore to bed, or what he liked in a mate, or how many lovers—

“Agh-Ahem!” She coughed, ears ringing, hands hot as they leaned forward to grip the dash.

Okay, maybe not that.

Her legs slid beneath her and her head fell to the terminal with a thunk that was entirely too loud. She sighed. It was also too loud. 

Silence.  
  
She stared listlessly at the endless space in front of them, not much for scenery aside from a few nebulous clouds of viridian and ochre, shifting and rolling. The ghostly echoes of far-gone comets or stars.

When a shape of red and white broke the image, she thought she was about to see one. 

The Red Lion bobbed, dipping back out of view.  
  
Keith and Lance.  
  
She sat further into the dash, sliding her elbows under her head to catch the Lion once more, it’s metal muzzle peeking every now and then in the corner of the viewport.  
  
Surely the boys weren’t riding in silence too?  
  
Allura grabbed the comm device off the terminal, snapping the earpiece off the side and hooking it on.  
  
The frequency cackled after a tick, and she breathed, before pausing.  
  
She couldn’t exactly talk, could she? Lotor would still _hear_ her. And that would still count.  
  
Allura glared at nothing, head dropping back down to her arms in defeat.  
  
“W-what are you even talking about?”  
  
“Come ON! You know what I’m talking about. The fur!”  
  
She froze, listening as the line burst into static and then voices. She’d opened the connection after all and Lance must’ve had the channel open. Whoops!  
  
“H—”

Nope.  
  
Her mouth shut. 

Well, she should turn it off. This was eavesdropping.  
  
“How am I supposed to know?”  
  
“You’re Galra!”  
  
“Yeah, like—a little!”  
  
“Exactly! So do you have any?”  
  
“No, I don’t have any fur!!” Keith snapped.  
  
Allura tried not to smile.

“Besides. Not all Galra have fur.” 

Lance had nothing to say about that.  
  
That was true enough. She’d seen that plenty of Galra had smooth, almost hairless complexions in comparison to others.  
  
Lotor didn’t have any fur.  
_  
_ _That she could see._

“Yeah… okay. I guess you’re right. See? You know what you’re talking about!”  
  
“Ugh.”  
  
“Alright, so what about claws? You got any claws?”  
  
“Lance!”  
  
“You have claws.”  
  
“No! I don’t!” There was a pause. “Obviously!” Allura imagined Keith waving his hands at the fellow paladin.  
  
“Well, some of them do, right?”

“No!”  
  
“Lotor has claws.”  
  
Allura looked at the wall to her left. Her heartbeat thudded and her throat tightened.

“No, he—I mean, he just—”

“Yes, he does! I would know! I held his hands for hours, remember?”  
  
“Lance it doesn’t work like that.”  
  
“They’re huge.”  
  
“It doesn’t work that way!”  
  
“What?”  
  
“They—they’re not like the fur thing.” Keith struggled. Allura frowned. “Every Galra has claws. They’re just...retractable. It’s situational.”  
  
“Whoa, what?”  
  
Whoa, was an apt response. Allura stiffened completely, unable to stop herself from staring directly at the screen separating her and the Galra man beside her.

“Most of the time it’s self-defense. Or, I don’t know. Excitement. It’s—”  
  
“It’s like a cat!”  
  
“It’s _not_ like a cat.”  
  
“It’s a cat thing. Cats do that.”  
  
Self-defense?  
  
Allura’s heart seemed to be at a terrible pace, skipping beats and making her chest feel funny, as she seemed to speed through her memories.  
  
Had she ever seen Lotor… without them? Without claws?  
  
Had she?  
  
And _if_ she hadn’t (she hadn’t) — what did that mean!?  
  
Self-defense!!  
  
Her teeth chewed harshly on her lip.

_Excitement?_

She shivered intensely, forcing herself to look away to stare at the nothingness before them.  
  
_Stars!_  
  
“Come on, pull ‘em out!”  
  
“I told you, I don’t have them!”  
  
“Maybe you haven’t tried! Maybe you aren’t excited enough!”  
  
“Lance!”  
  
“What if I fly us toward a meteor, will they pop out cause you’re scared?”  
  
“LANCE!”  
  
Allura snapped the comm off, cringing.  
  
Well, that turned out to be a terrible idea.

She replaced the earpiece with a sigh.

She was worse off now than when she’d started.

But at least Vigilance saved her from having to talk to Lotor after hearing… that gratuitous, information. Her head sunk into her hand once more, fingers pulling at her hair to expend the vibrating awkwardness firing from all her nerves. 

Maybe this was all for the best.

 

* * *

 

The landing woke her up. 

“Oh!”  
  
She had to shake her head from sleep, sound and sight rushing back in intense snapshots. Her eyes blinked harshly.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Green and Gold.  
  
It was sunlight and grass. Stone and forest.  
  
The viewport was full of it. A broad expanse of land, earth, and life rolling out in front of them.  
  
It was surprising. She had to stand up and lean past the terminal just to take it all in.  
  
Maybe it shouldn’t have been surprising, but under the specific details of Dethok An, she was almost expecting a planet chalk full of caverns and wildlife. Or perhaps at least a Galra-like territory with Empire architecture that had facilities and fighting arenas. Not something so… rural.  
  
There was a building, up the plateau of their docking strip. Past the stationed Red Lion, Allura could make out the domed top of a structure shining in the midday.  
  
There were flowers too. Far off. Dots of white and blue, dancing in the wind.  
  
A shift in the sun’s glare caught her eye.  
  
Lotor.

His reflection.  
  
Lotor sat at the edge of his chair, cheek on his fist. He looked relaxed. Rested. His hair was pulled over his shoulder. It exposed his neck, profiled him, actually, since he was staring at his right.   
  
At— _Oh._  
  
“Allura, are you there?”  
  
She jerked violently away.   
  
Lance. That was Lance.   
  
"Princess?"  
  
She turned and reached for the comm.   
  
“They can’t talk, dummy.”  
  
“Hey!”  
  
Oh, right.  
  
“We’re headed over, hang tight.”    
  
The shuttle’s terminal chirped, followed by the rumbling of metal beneath her.  
  
When she turned to look backward she watched the ramp lower, sunlight pouring in. A miniature sunrise of shadows crossed the floors.    
  
It was beautiful.  
  
She breathed in the fresh air as it curled inside, thick and full. A welcome change from the crisp, too-clean feeling of artificial oxygen pumps.  
  
“Allura, Lotor.”  
  
The boys climbed up, Keith looking serious and Lance waving.

Keith motioned gently, “Lotor, if you—”

The boy’s hand fell. Allura watched the two look quietly away from her. 

She followed their gaze but saw nothing.  
  
“Oh. Okay.” Keith nodded.  
  
“Cool, us first!” Lance exclaimed, hurrying passed the dejected looking Blade. “Come on Princess!’

Allura pointed to her bags, shaking her head. 

“Oh right, gotcha, I got it— your Knight's got you covered!”

Her Knight struggled a bit more than Hunk had with the two chests, but he kept his enthusiastic smile, leading with heavy stomps down the ramp. 

Allura made it off the shuttle without the innate temptation to look back.  
  
At least, most of the way.  
  
She risked a quick peek before she could think twice, but found it useless anyway, the Pilot’s chair blocking most of Lotor aside from a dash of white.

The planet, however, spoiled her.  
  
“This is incredible.” She breathed. It was almost strange to hear her voice again, suddenly cognizant of how it sounded.  
  
“It’s not too shabby! Kinda looks like a place we’ve been to before, right?” Lance slowed, coming to her side. They eyed the area together, heads swiveling about.

“I never expected such a planet to be under Galra rule.”  
  
“I wonder if there are even any beasts here for you guys. It’s so quiet.” Lance wore a sloppy frown. “There’s supposed to be beasts, right?”  
  
“Hm?—Mhmmm! Hmm—” Was all she could manage as her hands fisted and she cast her eyes to the sky.  
  
When they crested the docking strip they nearly froze.  
  
“Quiznak.”  
  
Allura only nodded absently.  
  
She’d have to tell Hunk that if Mansion implied Palace, he was right on the mark.  
  
“Avoiding each other should be easy as pie, right?”  
  
“Yes, getting lost seems much more likely…”

They continued at a steadier pace, eyes eventually having to look up as they neared the entrance.  
  
The walls were pillared around the entire facade, like a pagoda, or a rotunda. It reminded Allura of the Round on Altea. It certainly didn’t look Galra. It was too bright. Too curved. And too open. Not at all their militaristic or technical style.  
  
“This place would be great if it had a pool.”  
  
“How are we supposed to open the doors?”  
  
“Huh? Uhhh…”  
  
They could only stare at the clean polish of the stone looking entry.  
  
“There’s not even handles.”  
  
“Is there a hand pad?”  
  
“Uhhh…” Lance shifted the chests in his hands awkwardly, so she stepped forward instead, palm pressing on the flat surface and sliding across the front.  
  
A light erupted under an area she passed, teal burned up to the edges and outlined the frame before it slid open.  
  
“Okay, pretty cool, pretty cool, pretty cool, I’ll give the Prince some credit.”  
  
Allura gave Lance a listless expression.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Come on.”  
  
Their shoes made soft clacks on the floors, the glass-like texture of the opaque stone echoing further inside. They were shiny too, reflecting the shafts of sunlight streaming in from the open ceiling in such illumination it almost looked like a plane of energy.  
  
It had them looking up again, walking blindly forward.  
  
“Geez. I’m starting to get jealous.”  
  
Allura smiled.  
  
“This place had to be… some sort of court. Or maybe capitol?”  
  
“Or a rich dude’s summer home.”  
  
“It has columns like the noble residences on Altea.”  
  
“Or a museum with a bunch of paintings of old guys and naked ladies.”  
  
Allura huffed, rolling her eyes.  
  
As they neared the center, they had to come to a standstill, the walls bisecting into two long hallways and a few sets of doors.  
  
“Uh.”  
  
“Hm.”  
  
They turned about each other, blinking at the vases of plants or the open slots of framed windows, exposing them to more views of the land outside.  
  
No signs though.  
  
“Go to the far right!!”  
  
Turning around they saw Keith wave at them, nothing more than a dark silhouette at the entrance, as far back as he was from them. Incredible, she hadn’t realized how large the entryway had been. The place was enormous.  
  
“Which right!?” Lance yelled back.  
  
A taller, broader shadow sliced the sun, moving silently. Allura swallowed.  
  
Keith turned back. “The farthest right!! Then all the way down!! Then right again!!”  
  
“OKAY!!”

Their destination was actually pretty far. Enough that after a while Allura pulled one of the chests from Lance’s arms. They had a faster pace then or would have if they didn’t slow or stop to take in sights of the entire place. 

Most of the palace had an open atmosphere. If the endless windows and rafting of the ceiling weren’t enough, bigger rooms like the dining and lounge areas were just large alcoves, branched off from hallways.  
  
Definitely not Galra.

The teal interface of the homestead followed them, turning on screens or snapping lights on and off as they passed. 

Eventually, they came to her quarters, or what they guessed was. It was much the same, maybe a little more secluded from the world outside, with shaded viewports.  
  
They abandoned the chests by a seating area almost immediately to traipse around the furniture and explore.  
  
“Closet!”  
  
“Here too!” She confirmed, closing the door and hearing another shut behind her. “Did you see the holo-table?”  
  
“Forget the holo-table, check out this cool secret porch!”  
  
“Porch?” The word felt funny to repeat.  
  
She found Lance outside, a sliding wall revealing a large stone veranda.  
  
“Oh!!”  
  
“Right!?”  
  
She laughed, joining him further out before they both turned back to look at the palace behind them.  
  
“Crazy.”  
  
“I wonder though,” Allura shook her head.  
  
“What?”  
  
“A place this… immoderate.” She tried to describe the extravagance humbly. “So open.”  
  
“Yeah?” Lance’s shoulders rose, arms crossed, clearly not catching on.  
  
“It’s so empty, isn’t it?” She pointed out. “What’s to stop anyone from simply… walking right in?”  
  
Lance still looked confused. “You mean after the army of drones?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“That gridlock.” He nodded. “...above the atmosphere? Those armed satellite floaty things?”  
  
It was Allura’s turn to look confused. “I’m afraid I fell asleep.”  
  
“Oh. Yeah, there’s like — a whole shield surrounding this place with their connected signals. We had to ask Lotor to open a relay in order to get inside.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah, I mean, if you’re worried I dunno that you should be.”  
  
They looked up as if they would be able to see those defenses past the clouds.  
  
“There you guys are.”  
  
“Hey, Keith!”  
  
Allura waved.  The Blade smiled at her but frowned at Lance.  
  
“Come on.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“We gotta go.”  
  
“What!? Already!” Lance’s arms immediately went up, fingers splayed. “Are you kidding? We just got here!”  
  
“Lotor said—”  
  
“Keith have you seen this place!?”  
  
Keith didn’t say anything, he just glared straight ahead even as Lance pointed all around him.  
  
“It has secret doors and a bunch of giant screens for movies or games, and probably space fireplaces or a pool—”  
  
“This isn’t a vacation.”  
  
Allura perked but then frowned.  
  
Keith was right.  
  
“He’s right.” Allura sighed and Lance immediately deflated as she continued. “Not only is this a requirement for our political stations, but it’s also about what the galaxy perceives as a successful marriage.”  
  
Keith nodded. “If word gets out that the Emperor’s Oathsguard accompanied the new blood union to their Dethok An they would get really suspicious. Especially since the ceremony was broadcasted to every occupied world in Empire rule.”  
  
Allura’s eyes narrowed, but there was a gentle smile on her lips.  
  
The statement sounded suspiciously like the Galra prince. She could almost imagine him there, informing the boy’s gently with his low voice. Patient but authoritative.

Funny she could tell.

“You know what, whatever.” Lance shrugged. “This place is wasted on uptight busybodies like you guys.”  
  
Allura and Keith shared a dubious look that seemed to agree with each other before turning their ire on the paladin.  
  
“Allura, enjoy your crazy Carnival Cruise of a mansion.” Lance’s fingers wiggled in front of him at the building. “And you know, your six days of spa and silence.”  
  
“Lance,” She scolded.

His frustration softened. She was almost surprised with how quickly, too. But maybe he had been knowingly teasing all along.  
  
He smiled, eyes going a bit lazy. “Have a good time, okay?”  
  
“I’m here to get work done.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah.” His arms stretched a little, almost tentatively.  
  
Allura smiled then, coming forward to hug him.

It was quiet. The heat had made his paladin armor sunkissed and warm.  
  
“Thank you so much, Lance, for everything.” She looked up at the sky as she said it, but his arms squeezed a little.  
  
“Hey, what’s a Knight for?” He chuckled, then trailed. “...aside from holding hands with people, I guess.”  
  
Allura laughed, pulling back to catch her mouth as she did.  
  
“I’ll see you soon.” She promised.  
  
“Yeah.” Lance nodded, looking only a little sad, brows drawn. But he let her go, pulling back to head inside. He patted Keith’s shoulder. “Come on, man, long way back and I’m flying.”  
  
“You go ahead.”

They were both surprised at that but Keith’s serious expression was never one to question.  
  
Lance gave a final shrug, before leaving.

He took all his cozy comfort with him.  
  
Allura eyed the Blade as he watched the paladin go until he disappeared. She waited patiently, not feeling any less uneasy.  
  
“Is… everything alright, Keith?”  
  
He shifted, standing straighter.  
  
“Yes. Uh—” He coughed into his hand and narrowed his eyes. Concentrating. “Lotor told me to tell you some things.”  
  
Her eyes widened. A cold breeze threaded through her hair to chill her neck.  
  
“Oh. He did?”  Her voice was small.  
  
Stars this whole tradition made for the strangest circumstances. She never thought one of her own world’s traditions would feel so nerve-wracking.  
  
“Yeah, uhm.” His arm swept out almost grandly. “The grounds are, uh, free reign for you.”  
  
After a pause she blinked.  
  
He stared.   
  
"Is that al—"  
  
“No, sorry. He also said that the opposite side, you know, the far left? That's his quarters. So maybe not there. To explore I mean.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
“And there’s a center. The kitchens, dining, and the big meeting room, that’s all shared. And the garden and library.”  
  
This place was unbelievable.  
  
“I understand.”  
  
“And he said the interface is unlocked for you.”  
  
“Alright.”  
  
“And uh, there’s only one sentry, for meals.”  
  
Keith went quiet.  
  
Allura clasped her hands together and waited.  
  
His arm rose to scratch his neck.  
  
“Is that all?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
That wasn't so bad. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting. She almost sighed out loud with relief. Instead, she just smiled, hand reaching out to Keith’s shoulder.  
  
“Thank you, Keith, for everything. Not just for me, but what you’ve done for Prince Lotor as well.”  
  
“Emperor.”  
  
Right.  
  
“Yes.”

Allura’s eyes darted to the hand by his neck, the slash across his palm peeking through his black locks.  
  
“Thank you, from both of us, I suppose.”  
  
He was looking at the stone and grass beneath them. He didn’t reply.  
  
Allura frowned.

“Keith?”  
  
His hand dropped. And when his eyes came back to her it was hard and determined. Not unlike the same one Shiro usually sported. Allura was reminded immediately of Keith’s status as a black paladin.  
  
“I just wanted to thank you, Empress.”  
  
Allura felt like she stepped outside of herself at hearing the title. She couldn’t even respond.  
  
“Doing what you did…” He trailed, faltering only for a moment. “Honestly, I never thought you would ever do something like this.”  
  
“What do you mean?” She sounds further away then he does. Quieter.  
  
“Marry a Galra.”  
  
The silence between them stretches.  
  
“I know it’s for peace but even then, peace with the Galra, I just. I appreciate it.”  
  
Her mouth parted, unable to process the tender look in Keith’s eyes.  
  
“This probably sounds stupid. I just wanted to tell you, I think—I think its…”  
  
He shifts, turning, thinking, obviously. She catches his flush and wonders if he’s run out of steam.  
  
“I think it's great.” He ends lamely.  
  
But it’s honest. And it means so much.  
  
Allura hugs him, sliding her arms around his own Galra armor and pulling him close.  
  
His hands hover for a few seconds before gently returning the gesture.  
  
“Thank you, Keith.”  
  
“Of course.” He says automatically. “I… I talked to Lotor too.”  
  
Allura feels her heart thud heavily in her chest and she wonders if the boy can feel it.  
  
She would have loved to have seen that. It warms her for a reason she can’t seem to place.  
  
“And if… if you’re worried I wouldn't be, Lotor, he,” Keith hesitates. “I know he would let anything ever happen to you.”  
  
Her fingers curl on his shoulders.  
  
“I trust him.” He affirms.  
  
She pulls away and they share an understanding through their smiles.   
  
“I trust him too."


	11. Amaranth Navy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: NSFW ahead

They lasted three quintents.    
  
Well, that wasn’t technically true. And it wasn’t intentional! That should count for something, shouldn’t it? That it had been an accident?  
  
And it started off well enough.  
  
After the boys left, Allura had slept off the jet-lag, awakening in the grand quarters of the decadent residence and starting the first quintent of Vigilance feeling motivated. Responsible. Thankful even, for the quiet of the home and the absolute absence of any interruptions. It was the perfect circumstance to make up for the lost time and attention that the political work needed and the wedding had stolen.

She’d maintained that spunk even after she got lost.

Which was inevitable, let’s face it.

The estate was massive. Maybe not on the scale of the palace on Altea where she’d grown up—but enough for her to lose track of which hallway was which, especially since most of them were pretty similarly decorated. Wide open windows to rolling green hills, long marble-like pillars and shadows of ceiling rafters that created a sort of illusionary effect down the length of luminescent flooring.

It was maybe a varga of wandering around looking for her quarters before she gave up in the library.

It was a fine enough distraction, successfully so. Not only because the shelves had been lined with endless archives (mostly Galra, sadly. Though a few from Coalition planets too, and numerous others she simply didn't recognize.) But it also had comfortable enough seating on the floor to curl up nice and cozy and… write Alliance accords.

Not exactly the most invigorating activity, no, but distracting. 

She was able to find the kitchen from the library, and with a set-up conveniently and oddly similar to the Castle’s, Allura took most of her meals there, typing out all her drafts through her wrist interface.

Which also, conveniently and oddly, seemed to sync up to the estate’s system too, when she finally tried it.

Allura spent a good amount of time experimenting with the programming, tossing her windows onto the large screens on the wall as she ate dinner. She even took a check-up call with Coran there. 

And she was proud too, for getting almost a whole score of planetary specific terms and conditions done.  
  
She wasn’t proud of falling asleep on the desk.

Nor was she proud of spying on Lotor that morning, as she stole across like some sort of vagrant, looking for her quarters. 

Spying wasn’t the right word.  
  
Looking, maybe. And it wasn’t intentional either. Accidental.

But the house was simply so open. She could see other parts of the architecture through the large viewports; could see through one hallway, past the courtyard to another hallway or alcove.

So she saw him that morning, through the bright amaranth pink of the rising sun, looking tall and.. Casual.

She’d never seen him so… casual.  
  
Maybe more undressed. She _had_ measured his body when it was only covered by a measly flight suit. But this time he looked like he was dressed in a neat high collared tunic and pants, pacing back and forth in soft boots.  
  
Pacing. Talking.

Swinging a sword.

That was casual for a Galra, wasn’t it?  
  
He was talking to a screen, where a figure seemed to be moving and responding back, but it was nothing but a swish-swash of colors in the distance, shadows from the sky making everything a strange glare of light and mirrors.

But she could make out his actions. Slow, practiced steps to a slow practiced cadence, swinging a blade absentmindedly. He’d stop every now and then, let the weapon drop and nod at the floor.

Allura had been frozen to the spot, watching quietly.

It was endearing.

Different, of course. And almost… insightful. Was this Lotor without pretense? She couldn’t make out his expression at all, but she could see the ease in his spine. the weight of his shoulders; dropped and lazy. And while he still looked quite regal in his privacy—

 _Privacy._  
  
Allura escaped the hall with cheeks as pink as the dawn light.

“Vigilance.”

She actually whispered it to herself.

Most of the morning was spent in the cold of the water, bare and shivering as she punished herself for the broken rules and for falling asleep in the library.

But then she had discovered a steam generator and found fake excuses to reward herself with it. The washrooms were large and seemed to cater to any sort of whim, with aroma simulators and a row of various scent tabs. Even one that smelled suspiciously like tasselterrys (Maybe not so suspicious now considering the ‘sculpture’ she found in the washroom, but still.)

And after a late lunch, Allura finds herself in the library again, this time making calls of her own to various ambassadors. Drawing up another batch of Coalition requisitions.  
  
She takes a break with Hunk.  
  
“I TOLD you it was gonna be a mansion!”

Allura grinned, propping her elbows on the small table and drawing her knees under her. 

“Man, I’m so jealous! We’re stuck here doing work!”  
  
“Hunk, don’t be silly, I’m also stuck doing work!”  
  
“In a mansion!” He pointed a metal tool at her, looking up from the small drone in his hands. “Sorry Princess, that wins out.”  
  
“How _romantic_ !”  
  
“Is that Allura?”  
  
The voices confuse her at first before Hunk turns the signal for the comm and Allura watches Pidge and Morga enter the paladin’s workspace.  
  
“Pidge!” Allura waves, “And Morga too—are you all working on the tracking signal?”  
  
“Yep!” Pidge dumps a ton of contraptions onto the work desk, but Morga bypasses the thing altogether to come close, crowding Hunk to smile directly into the camera. “We’re trying to create a whole circuit system that should cover most of the Empire’s territory. Not just for Haggar’s ships, but for Sendak’s crazy crew too—”  
  
“T-that’s great Pidge!” Allura smiled at Morga’s large yellow eyes and grinning teeth. “Hello, Morga.”  
  
“Thank you so much for inviting me to your blood oath and burning, Empress.” Morga smiled wide. “It was magnificent.”  
  
“Oh, well, how could we not Morga, after everything—”  
  
Morga’s arm shoots out far and Hunk has to duck under her, pressing himself flat to the work table.  
  
“And Vrepit Sa! To our blood Emperor! I was so happy to see Tuflak pledge himself to Lotor. And even happier to do the same!”  
  
“T-thank you.”  
  
“That whole thing was terrifying.” Hunk commented, fiddling with a wire as he recounted the event with his eyes on the ceiling. “All the blades and blood, yeesh—”  
  
If Morga’s offended, she just laughs. Her teeth take up most of the camera.  
  
“It is the way of things!”  
  
Hunk shrugs. “I mean, yeah, congratulations to Lotor, but still,”  
  
“And the Altean!” Morga states again, and Allura shrinks as she seems to have the woman’s attention back. “It was strange but fascinating! The flowers and walking! So slow and medical!”  
  
Allura frowned. _Medical_ seems a strange term for her culture but—well, her gaze slid away and she poked at her own cheek a bit self consciously.  
  
“I suppose we Alteans do take things a bit meticulously.”  
  
“I long for hair or fur like that of Lotor’s so I might replicate this act of beading.” Morga continues, her large hands motioning to the fins behind her head in a tying motion.  
  
“O-oh! The Siciri beads? Yes, they are to count lessons learned.”  
  
“A mark of intelligence! I love it!”  
  
Allura laughed at the vigor.  
  
“Thank you! At least it was entertaining if a little bit of a slow pro—”  
  
When she looked back, Morga and the others had gone silent, staring at the screen.  
  
“What?”  
  
But she could already hear a beeping on their side of the frequency.  
  
“Gotta go, Princess- Lotor’s sending in a transmission.” Hunk waved.  
  
“O-Oh—” Allura stiffened. “I-is he? Well, he’s—”  
  
“An honor Empress!”  
  
“See ya, Allura!”  
  
The signal goes cold and the screen fizzles away to the empty library.

Allura glares at nothing, feeling heated but also stupid.

“Vigilance.” She says to no one, this time more of an accusation than a reminder.

She abandons the library after that, almost trying to get purposefully lost this time.

Her frustration is spent when she finds the gardens.

You can’t be angry in gardens like the ones here. It’s impossible.  
  
And even though they aren’t large, they’re beautiful.  
  
The rafters in the ceilings eventually gap so much that there isn’t even a ceiling anymore, or walls, just transparent panes of energy housing an indoor-outdoor arboretum of flowers lining rows of stone walkways.  
  
And while Allura mourns the lack of trees, the variations of fauna more than make up for the loss. Much of which is too foreign for her to name. Pinks, blues, whites, bright yellows, and greens.  
  
Allura clips them, a little sneakily. Her eyes dart about her as she snaps stems of flowers to collect for the nightstand by her bedside.

She does recognize some though.

The persil-berries.

The beddings encasing the blossoms look a bit bereft. Emptied. And Allura has to wonder if this is where Lotor had found them.  
  
This.  
  
Wherever this was.  
  
She finds other things too. Pieces of art on the walls or sculptures on alcove shelves. Little things she picks up and flashes in the light. Objects and things that simply look… too familiar.

She steals them too, in the quiet of the house, hiding them in her skirts to take back to her quarters (which takes another varga to find again, so she tags walls with loose petals just to add signs to the damn place)

The second quintent ends in her own bed this time.

Still just as late though, sending missives to ambassadors, attaching her newly drafted suggestions of compromises for each, and requests to Coran.  
  
It’s frustrating too, writing out, “ _please send this forward to the Emperor with a request for approval,_ ” every time, but it’s enough to satisfy her productivity.

And the flowers add a realness to the fragrance from her bath

And the bed is actually, gloriously comfortable.  
  
It’s the third quintent that everything sort of falls apart.  
  
The third night actually.  
  
But it starts before dinner, in the library.  
  
On the comm with Coran.

“SO! As it was told to me,” he inhaled.

Allura braced herself, sinking low against the alcove cushions.  
  
Shiro’s eyes darted from the flightmaster beside him to Allura, then back again, looking panicked.  
  
“Shiro tells me, that Pidge told him, that Kolivan told her, that Prince Lotor says he’s spoken to the the Talfecta quadrant about section 23.5, 1,”  
  
Allura scrambled, her wrist flicking up the named document and racing down the page.  
“W-Wait,”  
  
“That according to the Galra state of things the planet named Talfecta, after the original Talfecta quadrant, holds no preoccupied soldiers so there shouldn’t be any issue with reclamation.”  
  
Her eyes speeding through the screen beside Coran falter, she turns back to glare at him.  
  
“Coran, no—”  
  
“So I relayed my thanks to Shiro, to tell Pidge, to tell—”  
  
“Coran! It’s planet Talfax!”  
  
He stopped, smile falling. Shiro’s eyes slide away, face grimacing.  
  
“What?”  
  
Allura glared. “Not the Talfecta planet in the Talfecta system—planet _Talfax_ in the Talfecta system,”  
  
Coran deflated, looking at Shiro, who shakes his head wildly.  
  
“Coran we talked about this a quintent ago!”  
  
“Well, I’m sure the Prince meant Talfax—”  
  
“Then why does the minister report—” She has to pull up a third screen to find the missive of notes from the previous meeting, but she does it. If just to rub it in Coran’s face. “—over a dozen Galra outposts and enough soldiers to ensure the blockade against the system’s mineral trade to the nearby—”  
  
“Alright, alright, wrong planet!” Coran waves his hand hard enough that his frequency flickers. “Shiro! Why didn’t you—”  
  
“Hey, I’ve been delivering each jump drive you give me—”  
  
“You’re supposed to be giving them to Kolivan, not to Pidge—”  
  
“She was headed over to the Capitol when I ran into her so I figured—”

Allura buried her head in her hands, palms pressing into her eyes.

“Look, guys,” Shiro’s voice leveled out into the familiar tone of a paladin leader. “...Coran.”  
  
Allura appreciated the specification but looked up at the screen anyway.  
  
“I understand the need for a middleman, believe me, but, I’m not exactly well versed in politics. I may have to bow out of this one.”  
  
“Shiro, all we need—”  
  
His hands rose and he shook his head quickly. “I’m not kidding, I’m no good at this.”  
  
“Shiro!”  
  
“Coran,” Allura said. Her voice clipped through the screen to emphasize in the empty alcove around her. “He’s right.”  
  
Coran frowned enough that she could see his brows knit together.  
  
“And I know that you already have enough on your plate doing all the requested revisions for each agreement, let alone taking in the requests for appointments,” She sighed, “I don’t want to add any more tasks to your responsibility, so…” She trailed, looking away, innocently—no, _innocuously_ , “If maybe, I just,—”  
  
“Absolutely not! You cannot pull a fast one on this Gellygundark, Princess—”  
  
Allura’s fist slammed down on the alcoves shelving, making the tablets of agreements beside her jump. A few ten thousand meters away, Shiro jumped too.  
  
“It’s not an excuse! Coran! If I could just meet with him about the details. The requisitions even!”  
  
“Ohohohoho—requisitions!!” He accused, finger swirling toward the signal’s camera and shadowing him and Shiro out completely. “You don’t fool ol’ Coran!”  
  
“UGH!” She was practically growling, leaning forward to show the man her ire up close. “Coran, be reasonable, none of this is working! How are we supposed to lay down the foundation if we can’t even get the right requests to the right planets!”  
  
“It’s only the 3rd quintent and you’re already resorting to excuses for treaties! You’re worse than your great aunt Cassia!”  
  
Her hand went to her hair, pulling it out wide in disbelief. Treaties! Treaties were _excuses_ now!  
  
“Coran!! It’s not even a real marriage! I’m not some—some—” She shook her head, staring up at the ceiling and laughing, a tad hysterically. “S-some—lovesick little girl with dreams to go—to go—traipsing around—with—”  
  
She was losing her train of thought. The image of traipsing around the flowers in the gardens, hand in hand with the Prince had muddled her point. She blinked distantly.

“Maybe you both need to consider that real or not,  this is still happening,” Shiro said. 

 _This is still happening_. Allura had to repeat the words to realize he didn’t mean her imagined, ridiculous frolick.  
  
“What?”  
  
Coran is eyeing him too, and Shiro crosses his arms under their attention.  
  
“I’m sure the rest of the Coalition can wait. It’s been ten thousand years of war. They can wait a few more days for peace.”  
  
“But—” She starts, Shiro turns to the signal with a slow shake of his head.  
  
“Princess, just consider it, okay? I can run it by the Prince too if you like.”  
  
Allura sinks. Her eyes roam the room around her.

The sun is slowly winking out of the viewports, and the wind is dying down too. It paints a pink into the sky, a bit more than a normal atmosphere does. That bright, cold amaranth color that seems to seep into everything.  
  
She sighs.  
  
“Alright, I… suppose that putting the talks on hold—”  
  
“I’ll let the Prince know,” Shiro hurried. When she glared, he just gave her a sheepish smile.  
  
“Look at it this way, Princess,” Coran smirked wide, hand grooming the edge of his mustache with a smug flair of pride, “This way there isn’t even a lick of temptation.”

Her face fell.  
  
“Right.”  
  
“Now that that’s settled, I have to check in with Pidge. She might have a lead on a signal.”  
  
“Thank you for everything Shiro,” Allura waved. He waved too, stepping away from the terminals.  
  
Coran leaned in close, finger hovering over the interface. “I’ll still call in tomorrow, shall I?” He asked. Allura shot forward.  
  
“Wait, Coran, I need your eyes on something.”  
  
“My eyes?” He blinked rapidly as if to ready them.  
  
She waved her hand over the extra screens, fizzling out the documents to better see the small alcove table before her. She picked up the heaviest one first, shifting the chrome lever in her hand awkwardly to angle it at the signal.  
  
“Can you tell me what you make of this Coran?”  
  
There’s a bit of a struggle for her to get the entire thing in view and for Coran to see, but eventually, his nose and eyes block out everything else as he leans in close to inspect it.  
  
“By Ancients, I might be a relic in so many words, but that is a _relic_ relic.”  
  
She perked, tilting the lever in the air. “But, it’s Altean? Isn’t it?”  
  
“Ancient Altean, but yes, Altean in… some ways—” He pulls back, shoulders dropping in thought, “It’s a Xiodephino prong!”

“A—what?” Allura gives him a dubious brow.  
  
“Way back in the frontier days of our people making wormholes out to different sectors, they used the prongs to test the atmosphere for breathable surfaces!” He informed. “Quite outdated, as you can imagine.”  
  
“Why would one be…” Allura trailed, eyeing the room around her and the pink skies again. “Here?”  
  
“Where did you find it?”  
  
“It was a centerpiece in the washrooms.”  
  
“A what?”  
  
“What about this,” She continues, dropping the lever with a loud thud to the floor beside her and lifting up another object she had found in the shelves.

She stretches it out, a fin of metal unfurling like a solid fan between spokes.  
  
“That’s the shingle off a Hastion ship!”  
  
“Hastion—that's a few generations back.”  She confirms, flipping the shingle over in her hands.  
  
“More than that, Princess, I don't think I’ve ever seen one at all, let alone in use! We don’t even use shingles anymore now that engines are housed in the interior.”

Definitely Altean though. That meant that the other ones… She dropped the fin and reached for the others, picking up a clinking set of glass-like-tassels she’d found and a clunky block of white marble.  
  
“This really must be old tremor readers then.” She chimed the tassels. “And this—”  
  
“An Altean pill codex!” Coran practically climbed the terminal.  
  
“There’s a whole shelf of these in here.” She explained. “Didn’t father have a bunch?”  
  
“They're filing logs before they became too bulky to carry around we starting using plates and then sticks. Now it's clips.”  
  
Allura thought of her own clips, stacked full of video logs and missives she’d saved over the years. The comparison was laughable.  
  
“How… vintage.”  
  
“Now, now, no need to go squinting your nose at history!”  
  
“But, Coran,” She urged, once again lifting the objects in an awkward bushel in her arms. “Why are they _here_ ?”  
  
He frowned.  
  
“I suppose that depends on where you are Princess.”  
  
Her arms dropped.  
  
“We Alteans traveled great distances even in our youngest years of space faring. We were explorers and discoverers. Perhaps that planet was one we visited long ago.”  
  
“But Altea…” Allura trailed, she felt her chest constrict, fingers curling around the objects and drawing them into herself as if she could gather them up in her protection.  
  
Coran gave a very small, very sad smile.  
  
“Yes.” He nodded. “Yes. And with Altea gone, things that traveled out to the far corners of space long before it was destroyed might be the only things left of it now.”  
  
Allura looked down at them.  
  
“I would think it a happy blessing you found anything from home at all.”  
  
Allura considered him, and then considered the house once more, with a quieter sense of reverie.

“Yes.”

She spent sunset walking back through the halls.

Slower this time.

Her hand stretched out to feel the smoothness of the walls, to the curved edges, to the catches of her skin on grooves where the windows began. The energy of the viewports and floors hummed beneath her fingertips and shoes. That same static hum of the Castle, efficient and timeless. Warm and clean.  
  
It was so achingly familiar and yet so different.

Even the views of outside, the pillars surrounding the numerous verandas, the hilly terrain and vast skies. It was…

Dreamlike.  
  
There were more little artifacts and pieces of history like those she’d shown Coran too. A tapestry by the entrance, one she hadn’t noticed when she’d first entered with Lance. A long, skinny pictorial weaved with Altean minerals, a glittering star chart of a sector she couldn’t name.  
  
There was an empty cask of Altean Lucid ink among the tinctures and supplies of the empty meeting room. Long ago dried up, or thrown out, but still a tempting enough piece of evidence Allura wanted to steal and add to the growing pile. But at this point, she’d have to steal the whole house, wouldn’t she?.  
  
So she left it there with the childhood memories of her father using the ink to paint alchemic plans while she sat on his lap.  
  
She chased the last bit of daylight towards the kitchens.  
  
She didn’t quite make it.

Rounding one corner to another, they broke the rules.  
  
“A—”  
  
“Oh!”  
  
Allura’s hand rose, heat hitting her side and lilac blurring her vision.  
  
Lotor.  
  
She breathed in heat and shivered.  
  
White strands fell from his forehead, slicing the gold of his eyes, splitting his surprise. He straightened, shifting backward from her.  
  
Tall—so tall. She nearly forgot. Allura rose her hands to her chest, a small defense from his sudden presence.  
  
“Sorry.” She said.  
  
_Said._  
  
Lotor shook his head quickly, hand rising to press a soft finger to his lips.  
  
“Right, sorry!” She said again, then cringed.  
  
He laughed.  
  
Allura glared, shoulders drawing up with pursed lips in protest at being made fun of.  
  
“I’ll just,” She motioned, dipping her chin to hide her embarrassment.  
  
His laugh died as he realized she meant to leave. He moved quickly for her, the same way she headed.  
  
So he shifted the other direction. Just as she did.  
  
Allura huffed out an awkward sigh, foot sliding on the floor past his boot just as he did the same.  
  
“Princess, apologies—”  
  
“I’m sorry, why don’t—”  
  
“Allow me to—”  
  
They stopped, stepping back to stare at each other.

This time, they both laughed. 

Allura hid hers behind her hand as he bowed almost wearily.  
  
“We are seemingly caught at an _impasse_ .” He joked. Punned, again, voice sweetly whispered, as if still aware of the rules.  
  
“Quite literally, yes!”  
  
He hummed, straightening, motioning to his side down the hall.  
  
His arm was long and lean.

That’s right he was—

He had no armor on. 

Her eyes scaled him quickly at the realization, taking in the clean cut of the tabard he wore, dark navy and silver and creste—

His wedding tabard.

He was wearing his wedding tabard. _Now_.  
  
Had been, she remembered, thinking of the other morning when she’d spied him. Allura looked away quickly, hiding her face in her hair but not missing his fallen expression at the reaction.  
  
How—odd! How—  
  
_Romantic_ , Morga sighed dreamily in her mind.  
  
Allura rolled her eyes at herself.  
  
“I should… allow you the escape,” he said. Just as quiet.  
  
She peeked at him from her lashes, watching the last of the sunshine out the viewports, amaranth blush on his lilac skin, almost pink-fleshed himself. Pastel and soft.    
  
“I’ll go… this way.” She suggested, finger pointing past him to the kitchens. She made her first steps, circling about his body slowly.  
  
“And I shall…” He trailed, nodding the opposite direction.  
  
“Mhmm.” Allura agreed, stepping backward now, hand trailing the wall beside her to keep her steady.  
  
Lotor took one step away but stopped, smiling at her.  
  
She smiled too, fingers rising to wave stupidly.

He caught her hand then, and Allura jumped in surprise at the sheer length of his reach. 

But he held her gaze as he pulled her arm near him and up, up, his height.

Claws curled delicately to round her knuckles to his face. His eyes closed as hers widened.  
  
He kissed her hand.  
  
Warm.

It was warm.

Wet, but only from the humid touch of his breath.  
  
It was cold when he released her.  
  
“Allura.” His arm swept before him.  
  
He left.  
  
Allura watched him go, white locks bristling on his navy tabard like brushes on ink. Like the Lucid ink spilling on paper.  
  
That’s how it fell apart.  
  
The exchange.  
  
And then the missives.

Yes, the _missives_. At dinner, in the quiet of her embarrassment, in the quiet of the hot boil in between the spaces of her ribs and hips, and the tingle in her fingers, her wrist comm chimed.

And he messaged her.

> _—Allura  
>  _ _Please know the grounds are yours to explore at whatever time. The lapse of vigilance is mine to blame, forgive me.  
>  _ _—Lotor_

She read it as she drank down her glass in one go, staring at it as if it might overwhelm her.

It did.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t! The words of apology for the offense were an offense _themselves_. It was almost funny. But it wasn't. And it did little to calm her nerves.  
  
Or her heat.  
  
And despite what he said she still hid away in her quarters immediately after, ignoring anymore work in the library and heeding Shiro’s advice for relaxation and vacations.  
  
But no amount of flower arranging, interface browsing, or aroma simulation could calm her after the... incident. After the…

Kiss.

Her fingers pressed hard on her knuckles.

She paced the room, pulling on her hair, unable to keep herself from replaying the moment in her head over and over and over again.  
  
The pink, the hooded look of his eyes, their soft closing, the split of his lips and the heat of his breath.  
  
The way his hair fell from his shoulders as his lips met her hand.  
  
“Vigilance!! Vigilance, vigilance, vigilance!” Her cries matched the rhythm of her shaking fists in the air.  
  
But the heat only grew.  
  
What was with being hot all the time? She had been hot since their arrival on the Galra flagship, and since then, since this entire mess—and now—what? Because Lotor was—  
  
Handsome.

Allura dropped to the sheets of the bed with a thud, corners of the fabric lifted by her weight to waft quietly in the air.  
  
She watched them fall, listless.  
  
Her wrist chimed.  
  
The screen flashed.  
  
Her eyes traced the words almost distantly

> _—Allura  
>  _ _As forewarning, I will take my calls tomorrow in the conference room, but should you need the space, I shall abstain.  
>  _ _—Lotor_

Stars, she could practically, _hear_ him.

Lotor’s words were always so _undeniably_ his. 

And this time it was painful.  
_  
_ _Lips on her skin, hair past his shoulder, pink on his cheeks—_ _  
_  
Her hands pressed into her face as she rolled into the sheets, feeling hot, hot, hot, and groaned.

She yelled into the sheets.  

“Vighalhansh!!”

It didn’t help. 

And honestly, why would it?  It wasn’t every day a man, a Prince even, handsome and looming, with a soft face and snowy hair, kissed her hand and oh—

_Oh._

That was it, wasn’t it?  
  
It wasn’t… Lotor specifically.  
  
It was that well, she was…

Well, she was like any _natural_ being, wasn't she? 

Married or not married, Vigilance or no Vigilance, Dethok An or no… well, actually that’s all Dethok An was.  
  
Release.  
  
She was just a normal, hot-blooded being, who, who—  
  
Allura flushed, fingers curling, knuckles tingling.

It wasn’t about _him_ , not really. It was about her! And how… long it had been! And it had been around ten thousand decaphoebes, biologically. 

Why, it would have happened with any of the paladins, even!  
  
Allura frowned at the ceiling. Okay, maybe not all of them. 

Maybe not—Allura’s eyes leveled into a narrowed glare—maybe not _any of them._ _  
_  
But the point was, this wasn’t anything Coran or even Shiro would have or might have alluded to. This was just biology.  
  
And she could… fix that.

(And this was the final mistake that ruined everything.)

Allura tried to think of it like work. 

A vacation.  
  
She took another unnecessary bath under the free-falling sonic shower, and released more synthetic fragrance, deliberately leaving the steam on too, to make the room cozy, dewy and… lulling.  
  
Her nightgown went ignored, the viewports all closed via interface, and she settled between sheets with her hair carefully strewn above her, leaving her skin free, tickled by sensation and anticipation.  
  
It was catharsis. Or it was supposed to be.  
  
And generic.  
  
_Or it was supposed to be._  
  
She started with the basics. Skin on skin. Shuddering sensations and thoughts about simply feeling… _good._

That was enough to curl her legs into, enough to blank out her mind and turn into the sheets and pillows and just feel the softness along the edges of her hips and pelvis. Her hand followed those paths, falling between her legs with a flat gesture.  
  
She smelled tassleterries and steam, and focused on that as her fingers broke the soft folds of her cunt to hit a wet, thick sensation that made her sigh.

Yes. Exactly. Good.

It was almost relieving.  
  
Allura’s eyes fluttered open and closed again, free hand curling close to her breast as she focused. Resist and release—warm and low.  
  
Tall.

Her eyes shut as if to brace herself.  
  
Too tall. And lean.  
_  
_ _Lilac and lush._

Allura groaned.  
  
No, no, no, no—it wasn't about that, it wasn’t really, truly, about him, or his laugh, that thrumming, lofty sound that always surprised her. That always shook her to her core.  
  
Her fingers stiffened, making a harsh circle that had her lifting off her spine to follow it with her hips.  
  
“NNh-!”

Too late. 

Her free hand went to her mouth where she bit hard, shoulders drawn and head shaking, resorting to an awful habit as her mind lost itself in hues of violet and navy and white and amaranth and teal and blue and gold and every other damned color she’d seen strewn across his visage and expression.  
  
Every little bow or smile, or lazy-lidded, quiet, nodded, fang-flashed—oh!  
  
Teeth!  
  
She bit harder.  
  
_Hands._  
  
Allura yelped, one of her own nails scraping her inner thigh as she worked herself to the edge, a punishment and a reminder.  
  
Vigilance.  
  
Her lips broke and she panted into her palm, sweat breaking out along her hairline as she arched in and out, back to side.  
  
Rocking on the very hand he’d _kissed—_  
  
_Oh._  
  
Oh, oh, oh—  
  
That hot, wet, and she’d— _tainted_ —the gesture as if he’d _kissed her cunt instead._ _  
_  
Allura came.

Mind lost to a splitting glimpse of white hair and incredible height _below_ her, she flushed from head to toes, hot and wet and full, before incredibly empty, numb, and cold.

Shivering in the moonlight and blinking fast, it took a while before any sort of realization dawned on her. When it did, it was a broken thought.

Not good.  
  
Bad.  
  
A chime sounded in her room. The wrist interface flashed on the pile of her clothes on the floor.  
  
Allura stared at the blinking message and didn’t need to be any closer to see the winking, ‘Lotor’ to know who it was.

_Very, very bad._

By three quintents, Vigilance was as good as broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MUCH ART! 
> 
> Mistiqarts drew the last chapter [not once,](https://mistiqartsillustration.tumblr.com/post/176663312984/lotor-sat-at-the-edge-of-his-chair-cheek-on-his) [not twice,](http://aicosu.tumblr.com/post/176776764765/mistiqartsillustration-his-eyes-flickered-over) but [three times! ](http://aicosu.tumblr.com/post/176705889355/mistiqartsillustration-allura-sunk-in-her-seat) You can also thank her for the 'Allura bite sher own hands in frustration' idea. ;D
> 
> And AJ-cordierit did a [beautiful piece](http://aj-cordierit.tumblr.com/post/176731328884) on chapter 8!! 
> 
> Truly I'm so blessed!!!! T_T Happy season seven!


	12. Amber Zaffre

Any guilt in her was gone to the sound of chimes that next morning. 

> _—Allura_ _  
> _ _Whilst I know Coran is your loyal assistant and an efficient steward, please assume you may call upon Kolivan or any of my Generals should you see that a more direct source benefit your time. Attached is a list of their designated frequencies._ _  
> _ _—Lotor_

Because this was real rule-breaking, wasn’t it? Forget Vigilance, this was downright negligence 

> _—Allura_ _  
> _ _Forgive my early missives but should you find yourself in need of any territorial documentation regarding this Era’s Empire or it’s unclaimed sectors, I have left updated map chips in the conference room._ _  
> _ _—Lotor_

And as… actually helpful and thoughtful they were — this was very clearly direct communication. Just as their unfortunate incident (kiss) from the quintent before was.  
  
She should at least get credit for keeping her own slipup private.  

> _—Allura_ _  
> _ _Princess, a warm morning meal awaits you in the dining hall should you want to partake. It seems I’ve mistakenly ordered two sets from the sentry. It is at your leisure and I promise to be absent.  
>  _ _—Lotor_

Not that she was complaining.  
  
Nor was she answering, though she did contemplate it the entire time she got ready and the entire walk to the kitchens. She just couldn’t.  
  
Lotor was exceedingly more articulate between the two of them given the circumstances. Well, not more articulate. Just more… composed. He certainly wasn’t suffering from the awkward run-around of thoughts that was the aftereffects of shameful exploitation.

Her ears burned.  
  
Her wrist chimed. She tapped it open.

> _—Allura_ _  
> _ _Should you not have discovered them yet, the gardens are also yours to enjoy. They are located in the north hall from the kitchen and offer a better view of Doranic’s geography. I can not recommend it’s grounds more for a substitute to the Round. Even in sore solitude.  
>  _ _—Lotor._

Stars, she could _hear_ him.

It melted through her.

Her shoulders sank, exhaling softly as she stared at the words. Her face was burning and her ears were hot, but this time it was comfortable. Cozy.

“And who might that be, Princess?”  
  
She jerked, sitting up straight in the tall dining room chair, turning back to the screen floating above her finished breakfast.

She was still on call with Coran.  
  
“N-No one!” The wrist interface buzzed out and her hands clasped neatly in her lap. “Just an alarm! For—ah, a reminder to, revise—To revise!”  
  
“An alarm to a reminder,” Coran repeated, but with a long drawl that matched the cockeye, he gave the camera. “I thought we all agreed yesterday there would be no more drafting.”  
  
“Yes, well, see,” She tried, eyes finding the ceiling. “I just thought—”  
  
“No thoughts! Relaxing!”  
  
Her hands rose in defense. “I-I am relaxing!” She assured, face burning red. “I promise, I only, writing and researching can be just as—”  
  
Coran’s condescending hum cut her off. “That may well be, Princess, but Shiro was right, you should be concentrating on resting before you get back. That’s when the real work will start.”  
  
Allura sighed, shoulders and hands dropping. At least she’d thrown him off.

Her wrist chimed again. She cringed but didn’t answer it.  
  
Coran didn’t seem to notice.

“If I you must write, maybe take the chance to create a theatrical version of the Calmenta stories of Testo the great! Oh boy, that would definitely be a good one. And some Galra were just asking about more Altean ceremonies,”

She nodded absently, trying not to peek at her hands.  
  
At this rate, the Prince was the one who was going to get her into trouble.  
  
Surely he was busier than she was, how did he have the time to be…? Her smile fell as Coran continued, gesturing big ears and sharp teeth excitedly.

Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was just as besotted by this entire tradition as she was.

“Putting on some kind of exchange of the two would be enlightening. Maybe do it like the summer solstice fair’s we used to have in the old days.” Coran said. “Your mother was usually the one to pick the stories, then, but if it were more for everyone, we could break that tradition. And I could also ask the paladins! Lance was just talking about an earth story about double agents on impossible missions that fall from ceilings—”  
  
“This is ridiculous.”

“That’s what I said, especially the part with the ship crashing into a train, but perhaps that’s why it’s a good idea. The Galra would appreciate a story like that, don’t you think?”  
  
“Huh?” She hadn’t been listening. “Oh, yes, of course, Coran,”  
  
“I’ll see if there’s a stage on the flagship!”  
  
“Uh, yes, then I should… go think about that?” She suggested, lost, but ready to be off the call.

“Think of it as a nice distraction! Or a welcome back party when you and the Prince are done!” Coran assured. “I know it’s only the fourth quintent, but I can tell the team misses you.”

Allura actually smiled now, the awkward heat from before just a mellow warmth at the words. “Thank you, Coran.”  
  
“Just hang in there, Princess, we’ll talk again soon.”

When they said their goodbyes, Allura sat alone.  
  
She turned to look out into the glowing amber of the morning, where flower fields waved back at her and decadent architecture seemed to surround her. The enormous place was almost wasted to someone like this. Someone alone.

 _Hang in there._  
  
Her hands shoved the table, pushing backward to stand.  
  
“This is ridiculous.”

Once more her wrist chimed but she shut it off for good and left the kitchens.  
  
Allura went north, through the atrium of the gardens, and roundabout the mirrored hallways, skipping alcoves she had visited before. The sun followed her through the rafters, parallel shadows making the journey seem longer than it was. But she didn’t falter, not even when she reached the first set of doors to the west quarters.  
  
Her hand rose and the estate interface sparked to life. Her fingers flicked dismissively and the entrance whisked open under her command.

She found him inside, with his back to her.  
  
“Can we stop all this?”

Her voice was a lot louder than she realized.  
  
Lotor’s eyes found hers immediately, snapping to attention, mouth agape.

Something in his hands hit the floor.

And then sense sort of caught up to her.  
  
“I, I mean,”   
  
“Emperor?” Someone asked.  
  
Oh.  
  
There was a screen online on the wall before him, a Galra figure shifting far into the corner as if to try and see her behind Lotor’s shoulders.  
  
The sun burned the back of her neck, her hands rose defensively.  
  
Oh, wonderful.  
  
“Forgive me! I had no idea you were in the middle of a conference signal I didn’t even—” She hurried.

“Empress!” The Galra on the screen stated, giant ears standing straight up. His large teeth grinned.  
  
Lotor was still frozen, staring at her.  
  
She continued to wave her hands at him, ignoring the General. “I’m so sorry, I’ll wait, It can wait, nevermind,”  
  
The General started laughing, his hand smacking the desk, “I hope the hunt finds you both well rested an—!”  
  
Lotor’s hand sliced the air and the screen fizzled away with a snap.  
  
Oh, ancients.  
  
Silence returned between them. A more oppressive kind than anything Vigilance had ever conjured up. She shifted on a half-step backward out of the room, face on fire.  
  
Leave, leave, leave—  
  
“Apologies,” He began, still staring.  
  
“Wait, no! Please, don’t,” She hurried. His venture at being insufferably polite, as usual, was enough to make her cross the room entirely. “Honestly, at this rate, the only way you and I will ever be able to conversate with one another will be through _I’m sorry this_ , and _I’m sorry that,_ ”

His shoulders seemed to stiffen at her approach, mouth snapping shut.  
  
“I didn't come here for apologies.”  
  
“You didn’t.” It wasn’t a question but it was clear he didn’t believe her.  
  
“No, what would you have to apologize for?”  
  
Lotor’s brow rose, body still looking defensive. His eyes fell to his side, where he opened a fisted palm. A screen flickered from his wrist.  
  
A log of his messages.

Right. Those.  
  
“Well,” Allura gave him a wane smile, “Yes, there is that.”  
  
Lotor’s frown increased, a fang flashing in his cringe.

“Apologies.”  
  
“Stop!” She exclaimed, hands collapsing on his own. The interface disappeared into the air. He looked at her in shock, but she was just laughing now. “Really, Prince, honestly, I came here because we can’t—it’s been—”  
  
She shook her head and stepped away from him.  
  
“Princess?”  
  
“It isn’t just me, is it?” she asked him, turning to look about the residence and gesture at it. “I mean, I can’t stop thinking about you being here.”  
  
When she looked up him he looked even more distressed at her statement. She faltered. Wait, no, that wasn't worded right. This wasn’t about...She remembered the night before and clasped her hands behind her back with a smack.

No this was definitely not about that.  
  
This was about this stupid silence. And work.  
  
Politics. Yes, politics.

“It’s true though isn’t it? And it seems like everyone’s forgotten about what this is all supposed to mean,” She continued.  
  
Lotor’s white hair fell past his shoulders, expression lost. His hands fisted his claws into his palm.  
  
Claws.

 _Self-defense_.  
  
She frowned

“Vigilance?” He asked.  
  
“No, not—Vigilance,” She rolled her eyes, “The Alliance.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
“We finally have a chance to take advantage of each other’s company and now we can’t. And I figured, can’t we just,” She paced a little, looking at the ceilings and then the floor, trying to figure out what exactly she was trying to say. “I mean we already broke the rules! I saw you just yesterday and you’ve been communicating,”  
  
Lotor’s skin seemed to darken as he stepped forward. “I had thought it irresponsible not to host you,”  
  
Allura gave him a narrowed, dubious gaze.  
  
His mouth closed again, and he looked away quickly.  
  
“Either way, what’s the point now?” She urged. “And it’s not as if we have any disrepute-ah, _disreputable_ intentions” She swallowed the hitch in her throat and ignored the burning in her fingertips. She straightened, hands twisting her wrists to stop herself from imagining kisses. Or… other activities.

Well, at least _he_ didn’t.

“Princess,” He tried, he still looked so… unsure. It was an unfamiliar look on him. “What is it you mean by all this?”  
  
Oh. She hadn’t been very clear, had she?  
  
“Why don’t we just be together?”  
  
His chin dipped low, the edges of his face churned his lilac a dark zaffre color. It brings out the gold in his eyes. Or maybe that’s just the amber of the sunlight as it shifts in the sky, slicing the air between them.

He says nothing.  
  
“No more Vigilance.” She continues, trying to sound casual. She smiles and waves dismissively, just for good measure. “We already aren’t doing it right and—”  
  
“Your honor—”  
  
Allura laughs and her hair falls heavily to one side as she cocks her neck in resignation.  
  
“Lotor, please.” She gave him a wry and secretive look. “I won’t tell Coran if you don’t.”  
  
The Prince straightens. A breath fluctuates in his chest. Inhaling. She stares at it before looking back up at his face.

“Yes.” He breathes.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Hn.” He says, still looking a bit tense.

“Yes!” She claps her hands together. “Good! That’s—this is good!”  
  
It goes quiet again. Silence. They shift uneasily.  
  
She hadn’t really thought about what to say now that they… could say anything.  
  
“Right.” She breathes. The word feels like it fills the whole room.

Lotor’s gaze slides away from her to frown at the walls of his quarters.  
  
His quarters.  
  
Allura freezes all over again.

Her eyes dart around quickly, taking in what she can through a nervous realization that she had quite literally barged in on him to demand his company.  
  
It’s not sparse. The opposite in fact. There are stacks of strewn tablets cluttered over desks and shelves. More odd objects like the Altean atmosphere prong are lying a bit like they've been pulled out, looked at, and forgotten. There are some articles of clothing or fabric on the floor or furniture, and two swords leaning against a wall.

Allura isn’t sure she’d call it a mess.  
  
Pidge’s room, she’d call a mess.

This is… comfortably used.

Just as he is—comfortably used.

He’s not in his wedding tunic anymore. This high collared coat is something Galra. Sharp shoulders and pointed tails. But it still looks soft and warm. And it’s open at the front, to a shirt low enough Allura can see the hollow of his throat.  
  
She can see his collarbones.

His eyes catch her staring, brows flicking in confusion.  
  
She looks at the ceiling.  
  
Well, this had been successful.

“Perhaps we should—”  
  
“If you need—”  
  
The stop, glancing at each other and then away again.  
  
Lotor cleared his throat.

It still sounds raspy when he says, “Go ahead, Princess.”  
  
“If you need to call your General again—”  
  
He actually scoffed, shaking his head. “Morvak isn’t a General. Not anymore.” He glanced at the screen, “And he’s certainly not worth calling back.”

“If you had other business to attend to…” she trailed.  
  
“No, I,” He looked at her once more, this time looking far more relieved than he had the entire time. “I was just arranging a withdrawal of the fleet stationed on Talfax.”

“You got my request!”

“More or less,” His smile is timid. “I received just the right amount of incorrect information that I was able to deduce what you were asking of me.”  
  
“Is that reasonable?”  
  
“More than, the Talfax facility has been barren of resources for at least the last two generations, in fact—” He turns from her, hand rising with consideration, leading them both to his desk. He rifles through a few tablets before realizing the one he needed was the one he’d dropped when she’d entered. He picks it up from the floor looking a bit self-conscious.

When he hands it over, he looks surprised to find her right at his elbow. 

“What’s this?”  
  
“It’s a record of any Galra resource stations currently considered depleted.” He explained, eyes on her face. “And therefore a good list of candidates for potential removal.”  
  
“Removal of occupation?”  
  
“Ideally.”  
  
“Oh, Lotor, this is,” Her wrists falls a little, the tablet going limp so she can see his face properly. His eyes narrow and his jaw and shoulders stiffen once more. She tries to show him the most encouraging smile she can. “This is perfect, this is so much,”  
  
“It was only the most obvious conclusion,”  
  
“Not at all!” She urged, hand reaching to touch his sleeve. The Galra fabric was in fact warm. Soft. “And even if that were the case, that you would consider this much of a compromise.”  
  
“Princess,” He looked away, blinking rapidly at the wall. “Please, this is hardly noticeable to the Empire. Don’t make me seem so gracious.”  
  
Allura just laughed, tugging on his sleeve to get her to look at her again.

“You and I both know what sector territory means to the Coalition. This is a big thing, it’s a requirement on almost all their terms for peace. And we also know how much the idea of relenting those planets angered the Empire before.”

He sighed, his own hand coming to rest on hers, softly pulling her fingers from his sleeve. The nails of his claws rolled lightly over her fingertips.  
  
“It angered Zarkon. Not the Empire. Many of us are also tired of the endless obligation of universal domination.” The words were said with a fake showy tone that made her stomach sink.

His expression seemed more resigned than offended. Allura frowned anyway. 

“Sorry.”  
  
His smile showed teeth. “I thought we were not to talk in apologies, my Princess,”  
  
Handsome.  
  
Her fingers squeezed his a little harshly, heart seemingly somewhere in her throat and unable to look away from the amber glow the sunlight reflected from his eyes.  
  
His smile fell, brows worrying very neatly together.  
  
She heaved, holding her breath.  
  
“Allura, no, I mean no offense by it.” He urged, and the hands still caging her fingers curled her knuckles into him, lifting her arm up to his lips.  
  
_Oh._  
  
No.  
  
The night before flashed through her. A waterfall of ice sank from her head to her knees before fire burned right back up to her neck. Oh no, he couldn’t—after _she’d_ —  
  
“I forgive—”  
  
“No—”

Allura slipped her hand through his claws so fast it thudded into her chest.  
  
He froze.  
  
“Hahha—” She inhaled a laugh, making it sound a little frightening. “Ahn—yes, t-thank you!”  
  
His fingers curled slowly backward before his arm fell to his side.  
  
He said nothing.  
  
She tore her eyes away from him, shakily patting her hair behind her ears and staring at the tablet in her hands as it were meters and meters away from her.  
  
“I, I’m surprised you were, you were able to get so much done even despite the circumstances.” She nodded absently. “I know that without being able to advise with you I mostly wrote endless drafts that I will inevitably have to rewrite now that, now that we’re, together.”  
  
“Hn.”  
  
She peeked up at him, but Lotor wasn’t looking at her anymore.  
  
“I imagine things are little easier when you’re Emperor instead of… representative. Or perhaps, easier when it’s all the same language. With the Coalition I’m afraid I’m a bit lost in understanding not only what each planet needs but what their culture wants and..”  
  
She trailed, thumb pressing at the tablet oddly before looking up at him again.  
  
He caught her this time, and seemingly himself too, standing straighter.

“Yes, Princess, you—”  
  
“You know,” She interrupted, smiling again. It was thinner this time. Weaker. But she tried all the same. “A friend told me this morning that the gardens here make for good scenery.”  
  
Lotor’s shoulders dropped. She was rewarded with a curl of his lips. Not quite that handsome grin from before, but enough.  
  
“Well?” Allura gestured a come-hither at his elbow. “Shall we take his advice?  
  
“A friend.” He repeated quietly. He let her weave her arm in his. “Yes. Of course.”

 

* * *

 

Despite whatever excuses she made at first, they do actually talk politics. 

“I didn’t know there was any resistance aside from the Blades of Mamora.”  
  
“The Blades weren’t public. Many groups were until they were ultimately ostracized or put back in line.” He paused, leaning over another bed to pluck a long-stemmed blue leaf from a bushel of green. “These ones are from Vatel,”  
  
“Thank you,” She recognizes it from her visit two quintent's ago, but doesn’t say so.

He smiled, handing it off to the pile growing in the crook of her elbow. It’s a flurry of colors arranged in a vibrant and colorful bouquet that puts the scant few clippings she took before to shame. 

“Did they ever get far? Liberating planets.”  
  
Lotor considered another plot, hands whisking over tiny blossoms. They bounced upright as he passed.  
  
“Liberation wasn’t ever the goal I’m afraid. The Galra weren’t ever regretful of conquering places. Not so late after the beginning. There were simply some who grew tired of it. The expectation of expansion meant a never-ending draft, a never-ending posting—there was never a time for them to enjoy what they’d built. Never a time when one generation didn’t enter the system to be trained and sent out, even if it wasn’t to die.”  
  
Allura frowned, trying to imagine endless military regime.  
  
“But these groups spoke out, or, defied the way of things."  
  
He huffed “They certainly tried. Anyone is free to speak their mind, to share their opinion.” He paused again, this time taking two soft yellow buds from a row. They were long and sleek, ridged in orange. He clipped them close to their roots with a sharp snap of his fingers. She accepted them silently. “Technically all have freedom in the Empire, so long as they had the strength to convey it.”  
  
“The strength?”  
  
“Anyone who had a difference of opinion was strong enough to share it or they are dead.” He gave her a quiet look. “ _It is the winners who write history_ , isn’t it?”  
  
Allura looked away.  
  
“It’s the way they were taught. Not by their parents or by their parents, parents—but by Zarkon himself.” Lotor explained. “He was ten thousand decaphoebs old. Plenty old enough to brainwash generation after generation. Most of the Galra today thought he would never die, let alone thought there was anything before him.”

“But you’re also ten thousand decaphoebs old.” She pointed out. Lotor is already chuckling before she finishes the sentence. She watches him circle the end of the row, putting the beds between them.

“How impolite, Princess, you wound a man’s integrity bringing up his age.”  
  
She glares at him through a frame of persil-berries.  
  
“Yes. I am as old as Zarkon. Perhaps young by only a thousand or so, since it wasn’t until after the destruction of Daibazaal that I was born.” His eyes cast down to the blossoms, and his hand reaches to snip a few.  
  
Allura stops him, shouldering the pile in her arms to grasp his fingers.

“No please, there were so many taken for the wedding already.”  
  
He looked surprised.

“This must be where you got them?”  
  
“Yes.” He nodded, “It is, actually.”  
  
He seemed to consider her for a moment and Allura thought he might say something more, but instead, he continued.  
  
“As old as I am though, I am still only one against many. And he had that wretched—” Lotor’s eyes narrow, leaving the flowers altogether. “—witch at his every beck and call.”  
  
“Could you not rally your own allies?”  
  
“I spoke in forums, yes. I made my case known and some openly agreed with me. But it wasn’t what I was saying, it was just that it was me saying it.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
They continue their stroll looking across each other, through stalks of fauna.  
  
“I’m me, Allura. Half-bred, mixed with weak blood and made ill—”  
  
“Alteans aren—”  
  
“No, of course, they’re not. But it is what they believe because Zarkon does.” The sunlight glimmers from his eye. Like flowers of light in fields of purple. “And unlike you, Princess, I am no Voltron.”  
  
The words shouldn’t make her blush.  
  
“If not for that, for you, I would still be waiting until his storage of Quintessence inevitably ran out.” The words end sharply. Just as his hands break a few blossoms she can’t see from this side.    
  
“Was that your plan? To wait until he could no longer replenish himself?”  
  
Lotor actually shrugged. Allura wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him do it before now.  
  
“Either he or Haggar would eventually use me as a last resort to keep a hold on their power, or they would both wither away and I would fight in Kral Zera directly.”  
  
“How long would that have been?” Her hands curl into the stems at her breast. Petals tickled her chin.  
  
His smile isn’t one.  
  
“It doesn’t matter.”  
  
She’s not sure if he means it doesn’t matter anymore, or that it never did. Maybe after ten thousand decaphoebs it was both.  
  
Allura swallowed, looking away to the clear viewports of the gardens around them.  
  
She almost always forgot how old he was. It was hard to conceptualize and remember, when he stood before her, ageless and… present.  
  
He turned at just that thought, meeting her at the end of the row to present her with two bright red swirls of color.  
  
“Juniper,” Allura whispered.  
  
“It’s… genetically modified to imitate it, I’m afraid, but,”  
  
Her hands closed over his.  
  
“Thank you, Lotor.”  
  
“Yes, princess.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s not that I disagree, no,”  
  
Allura tapped the crystal vase where their flowers from the garden collection sit in the middle of the table.

She curls her legs underneath her and gives him a narrowed-eyed look.  
  
Lotor chuckles from the shelf, hand stilled over a pill codex.  
  
“Hear me out, Princess,”  
  
She sighs but waits.  
  
“The entire reason the Empire started mining Yuuran 16 was for its naturally occurring fentrite alloy, not their carmine pigments.”  
  
Allura frowned, looking back at the screens they’d projected on the alcove wall. Her wrist scrolled down the words with a flick. “Their King, Nanlnen, said it was—”  
  
“He’s young.”  
  
“He’s eight hundred and thirty-two.”  
  
“As I said, _young_ .” Lotor waved his hand dismissively at the screen and picked out the archive he was looking for to place on the table. She watched his hair fall completely to one side as he leaned over to turn the holo on, blue catching his locks like skies reflected in snow. “He wasn’t alive when we took his sector or his planet, nor does he remember that his people invited us in the first place.”  
  
The holo started flashing constructed snapshots of memoirs. Images of a planet and its terrain, and then of facilities, and finally some incriminating scenes of the Yuuran people shaking hands and holding some sort of celebration for some stoic looking Galra.  
  
Allura’s nose scrunched. She shared the expression with Lotor.  
  
“They were not space-faring at the time, only space… knowledgeable. And they were not using the 16th moon because they weren’t even aware it existed. The alloy was exchange for acceptance into the Empire and protection from their warring neighbors on Zaxes.”  
  
Allura shook her head at him, a wary smile on her face. Her finger tapped the table pointedly. “He wrote to me about how the Empire swooped in and stole, _stole_ , that facility and have been depleting their ceremonial paints just to spite them. And how that because of that their gods have killed off all their livestock.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Yes, he also said the Galra had caused the climate to rain acid down on them with the pollution of their mining.”  
  
“Did he also tell you we ate his first child?”  
  
Allura laughs, more loudly than she wanted.  
  
Lotor is smiling at her, grinning, even.  
  
She puts a hand over her mouth to stop herself. But then Lotor is kneeling down next to her, leaning in with a conspiratorial looking expression.

His hand cups his cheek and he whispers, “Truth be told Princess, I ate it myself right after I sent monsoons to flood his house and placed rocks at his feet to trip him wherever he went.”  
  
“St-stop!” She has to turn away from him completely, tears squeezing from her eyes, her breath catches and her silent mirth turns into a rippling giggle. It’s cruel to the King’s feelings, even if it’s starting to be obvious the man had over exaggerated.  
  
He leans closer still.  
  
“It has been my life’s goal to make King Nanlnen miserable, Allura, just wretched—”  
  
“Stop!” Her hands push at him blindly, fingers brushing past his cheek.  
  
“Ha!” His hand caught hers.

When she turns back Lotor is smiling something soft and tentative.

His thumb brushes over her knuckles.  
  
“Stop being funny.” She admonished. Her hand stays in his, clasped on the table.  
  
“Forgive me, I shall endeavor to be more dour.” The purple in his eyes seems larger than usual, even as his grin makes his eyes thin; cheeks on high cheekbones making his happiness a razor-sharp thing. Soft but piercing.  
  
Her fingers curl comfortably in his palm and for a moment she has to glance down. The soft plushness of his skin bare of his usual claws.  
  
_Oh._  
  
She looked back at him, smile traded for parted lips and burning ears.  
  
Zaffre returned to his lilac complexion.  
  
“Yes,” He hummed, looking away. “In any case, I agree to negotiations, but those alloys belong to the Galra.”  
  
She was almost too distracted by the sound roundness of his fingers weaving through her own to realize she’d lost leverage for King Nanlnen.  
  
“Mmm, hm? No, what?” She shook her head. “But, they want—”  
  
Lotor cringed a little, “Allura, it’s perhaps one of the only foreign assets that we claimed legitimately. Non-violently."  
  
“But—”  
  
“You can’t even call it foreign anymore. The agreement is at least two thousand decaphoebs senior to the King himself. Taking it away will confuse the Empire, there are colonies on Yuuran.”  
  
“But, surely there are other places. Other planets already in your original territory.”  
  
“Original—? That’s not the point.” His eyes narrowed once more, but this time not with a smile. “And if you want to talk original territories for the Galra you’ll have to be more specific. Do you mean Daibazaal? Or only the Nomadic Ring before the expansion of Ruan Bol? Or should we consider everything before Ultek’s Retreat history and focus only on the last five thousand decaphoebs of grievances? Or can war crimes heal faster than 60 generations?” His head cocked, looking slightly listless. “How about just the last thousand, hm? That’s only 30.”  
  
Allura groaned, loud and painstaking, hands scrambling to her face and hair as she fell backward onto the floor.  
  
When she opened her eyes, the Prince loomed over her view of the ceiling, his smile knowing and tired. Exactly how she felt.  
  
“Forgive me, I was clarifying the point.”  
  
“No apologies, remember?” She teased.  
  
His lips quirked.  
  
Allura shook her head. “And, you’re right, of course, I understand—and this conundrum has been plaguing most of my difficulties with how we proceed.” Her hands gestured at nothing. “There are simply too many worlds! All with different expectations and the Empire, it’s, it’s just gotten—”  
  
“Large.”  
  
“Incredibly!”

Her hands fell to her sides, legs ruffling her skirts as she stretched them out beneath the table. Lotor’s eyes looked distractedly at the noise.

“I know that every planet in the Coalition will require its own treaty, it’s own set of rules or compromises, but why does that seem a completely backward task to attempt?”

“Hm?”  
  
“It’s almost as if it might be more beneficial to create one simple manifesto. One declaration or promise to negotiate on immediate issues and, or, ah… and lay down... guidelines…what’s the”  
  
“Rules of engagement.” He said, gaze still downcast, hovering about her as she lies there.  Allura folded her hands over her breast self consciously and his gaze flickered up to her, shoulders straightening to sit himself up. She hadn’t even noticed he’d laid down on his elbow beside her.

“Yes, rules of… engagement.” Body hot, she sat up, feeling silly and childish. How improper. So casual. Not very princess-like.

“It—,” He cleared his throat. “It won’t appease everyone. Walls of texts punctuated with ambiguity don’t exactly invigorate the Galra.”  
  
“Or the Coalition, frankly.”

A hand took hers. Allura watched him play with her fingers once more, the activity seems a new habit of his she had no thoughts of deterring. 

Claws again.  
  
_Oh._

Her heart seemed to slow it’s pace so much she felt each and every beat vibrate into her throat.

“We…” He breathed, contemplative. Allura watched a strand of his hair flicker at the puff of air.  
  
Her heart squeezes painfully like it had swollen, too big for her chest to contain.    
  
“We should have dinner, Princess.”

* * *

 

As quaint as dinner sounds, Allura is reluctant to stop the oddly successful progress they had started in such a short amount of time. Lotor indulges her, carrying tablets and codexes with him to the kitchens. She talks treaty details into his ear the entire way there, and throughout the meal.  
  
Perhaps it’s not odd.  
  
Before everything, Lotor had always been completely committed to making the Alliance his first step as Emperor, even if that meant a detour into marriage.  
  
He’s also just as enthusiastic.  
  
There is no pause in their chatter. No explanations needed unless he’s filling her in on the history she had been cryostasis-ed out of. Even their disagreements are more based on context than belief.  
  
“We never governed!”  
  
“You had ambassadors sent to weigh in on the local affairs of planets you traded with in order to safeguard your resources. It is at least _policing_ , if not—”  
  
Allura returned to the table from refreshing her drink. She dropped into the open seat at his side, ignoring her empty plate across from him. They’d been done for quite a while anyway.  
  
His shoulders stiffened, hand stilling over the screen he had open on his wrist.  
  
“No, no, ambassadors were asked to be there to make records for the Tower.” She reached past his lap to press the screen herself, pulling up data. She grazed his bicep. “We were only interested in the outcome whether or not we benefited from it.”  
  
The screen spins a projection of a Tower, but it’s only a schematic. In Allura’s mind, she can see the solid pillar shine in the sunlight, with cobalt banners and gold sigils.  
  
The interface disappeared completely when he turned toward her.  
  
“There is no record that the Tower was interplanetary—only that it stored records of Time.”  
  
“All time. Not just Altea.” Allura sipped her drink, enjoying seeing the Prince so fascinated on what she was saying. He looked more attentive than she thought was possible.  
  
“Then why only planets you traded with?”  
  
“I don’t even know what you mean by trade. We didn’t exactly have imports or exports. We donated and received.” She leaned her back on the table’s edge comfortably. “It was customary to gift those we visited and either they also did in return, so much that it became a seasonal custom, or they didn’t and we moved on.”  
  
He turns away and says something under his breath she doesn’t catch.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothing, I—” He chuckles now and Allura watches his legs stretch beneath them, elbow propping to hold his chin in his hand. He looks comfortable too, like that. “It would be within Altea to simply trade gifts as a dance of court manners, rather than establish an outsourced market of things.”  
  
“We _like_ our court manners.” She defended. But she’s just smiling.  
  
“So I’ve learned, Princess.” He nods.  
  
A claw comes up to the hand holding her drink to play with the taleson chain at her wrist.  
  
Allura pulls away, blushing in embarrassment.  
  
His laugh seems to vibrate through his chest into the bench beneath them and up her spine. She can only shiver and watch, lips wet from sweet liquid and cheeks hot.  
  
“The Galra have their own complications!” She accuses finger tapping on his shoulder and all.

Lotor’s head is heavy in his hand, fingers curled at his lips as he watches her, looking languidly amused. It’s frustrating. “Setting things on fire or bleeding themselves—”  
  
“Yes, forgive me, I might have warned you about that had I imagined that it would ever happen.” He actually closes his eyes in somewhat shame.  
  
“No.” She taps him again, a bit rougher this time. “Apologies.”  
  
“You are turning out to be better at this than I am.”  He hums.  
  
“If you’d rather we go back to Vigilan—”  
  
“ _No_.” He breathes the word, sitting up straight to look at her seriously. It makes her falter, makes her freeze. “Please, the silence is deafening when you're so close.”  
  
His canine catches on his lip for a tick when he says ‘deafening.’ Seeing it makes something burn inside her, deep and low. Quiet but unignorable.  
  
“Oh.” Her voice is a little high.

It’s almost the same thing she’d said to him that morning, but the sound of it reminds her more of _last night._

Oh no. She’d been avoiding thinking of it this entire time but then, oh, stars, there it was. Her fingers tingled. Her hands hurried to put her drink down so she could press the wrinkles in her skirt flat on her lap, needing the pressure to stabilize the tremor through her body.

Oh well.

“Had you not come to me earlier,”

Oh, no, what? What was he saying? C-come,  _had she not come to him_ —Oh—She fisted the silk in her hands, hips shifting uncomfortably.  
  
“I might have had to come to you myself,”  
  
“Oh?” She said. Maybe. It was a strangled noise of a word. A squeak that barely had a tone of curiosity in it.  
  
“Was that not obvious already? I thought my lack of restraint painfully apparent.” He chuckled. His gaze slid slowly to the side, away from her, letting her stare at the smooth planes of his face without worrying about him noticing how raptly she did so. “I’m disappointed with myself but not regretful for your intervention. Today has been... “ He trails, lips parted.  
  
Allura watches the shadow of his tongue play idly behind his teeth. It’s an innocuous thing. A small tick that mirrors his expression of lost-in-thought. But it’s closer than she’s seen, closer than she’s observed.  
  
How many others knew the Prince licked his teeth when he lost track of what he was saying?  
  
Her hand goes to his thigh.  
  
His mouth snaps shut.  
  
Lotor’s eyes latch onto hers, stopping only to dart down in a blink at the stray, inappropriate gesture and then come back.  
  
She honestly hadn’t realized she’d done it. She swallows. She doesn’t even have anything to say. His body beneath her touch is firm. Warm. What had he been talking about?

_Oh, stars._

“I loved dinner.”

A rattle of clicking snatches their attention to the table, where his claws scrape the surface. He pulls them quickly away and Allura does the same, shoving her hands painfully between her knees. Punishment.

“Ha-en-Ah—Hmm.” Lotor says.  
  
They both glare at the wall across from them.  
  
Ancients, what happened to all the politics? Why did she ruin it?

Allura is desperately racking her brain with Coalition requisitions to bring up in sudden conversation when Lotor finally continues.  
  
“Thank you, Princess, for your company today, I would escort you to your quarters if you—”  
  
“Yes, perfect.” She agrees and they both almost sigh in relief at the easy fall back into propriety and decorum.

The walk is silent but less uneasy.

She hangs on his arm, watching her skirts swish in and out his boots. A sight she didn’t think she'd see more than once and one that’s still mesmerizing. At one point she looks up and is surprised to catch him observing the same thing, his height crowded around hers, back straight but eyes lidded.  
  
They share a smile and Allura slides her arm tight to him so she can take his hand.

His fingers roll her knuckles through his grip until they get to her rooms. 

They release each other bit by bit.  
  
“I hope the quarters are accommodating thus far, Princess.” He says at her open door frame, arm relinquished but fingers laced.  
  
“Oh, yes, they are beautiful.”  
  
“Should you need anything—”  
  
“No, I, really, it’s alright,”  
  
“There is plenty of other amenities I can have—”  
  
“Please!” Allura laughs, pulling her hands away to catch it, “What? Would you hail poor Keith to fly across the stars to retrieve me fresh linens?”  
  
Lotor’s shoulder leans heavily on the door frame as he looms over her. She cranes her neck to see his grin.  
  
“I don’t doubt the boy’s tenacity. Especially if I deemed it a matter for an Oathsgaurd.”  
  
“You wouldn’t!” She whisks fingers at his arm, still giggling.  
  
“No, of course not, I care too much for—” Lotor stops, grin faltering. “I care for..” he tastes the words again. “...the young blade too much to play such cruelties on him.”  
  
She nods affectionately, something sore in her from thinking of the paladins after only a few quintents of absence.

“Lance on the other hand.”

“Lotor!”  
  
His laugh is angled at the ceiling, shoulders shaking.  
  
“I jest!”  
  
“You do that a lot more than I imagined.”  
  
She doesn’t mean to say it out loud but finds she doesn’t mind revealing the assumption to him. He looks a bit dubious, but not offended. If anything he looks more apologetic.  
  
“Forg—”  
  
“Ah, ah, ah!” He finger rises high, up to his height, to press on his lips, like she had seen him do so many times to himself.  

 _Vigilance._  
  
He’s stiff beneath her touch.  
  
But warm.

Hot.  
  
Wet.  
  
Allura’s face is on fire. Everything is sweltering. Se shakes as she struggles to keep the joke on her face. “N-No apologies.” She hushes.  
  
His eyes are unseeing as they look down on her.

His lips shift against her skin.  
  
Allura rips her hand away.  
  
She rubs the wetness into her palm.

“Besides, you make me laugh. I enjoy that.” She hurries, patting imaginary dust from her dress. Lotor says nothing.  
  
_Don’t ruin it, don’t ruin it, don’t ruin it…_

“So much so, I would expect that… tomorrow… should you wish to, perhaps, well, with all the work we got done today perhaps we could—if you sought—” Allura struggles.

“I will call on you in the morning, Princess.”  
  
Allura looks up.  
  
His chest is heaving.

“Yes!” She nods a bit frantically. “P-please. I would enjoy that.”  
  
She’s not sure how much time passes as they level their gazes at each other, but it seems like forever when her heart is pounding in her ear.  
  
“Goodnight,” There’s something hidden there, in his hesitant step backward. Somewhere in the space of his creased eyes and polite bow but she can’t place what that is.  
  
“Goodnight.” Hers sounds too light, too pathetic, compared to his low declaration. But he takes it anyway stepping far enough that the sensors on the door finally flash. They close.  
  
Allura wants to fall to her knees.  
  
Her finger pressed against her lips, as it had on his.

Two more quintents.


	13. Thulian Thistle

They get used to each other.

Tentatively.

Sort of.

The morning started off a little rocky. Which really, is her fault, honestly, she had forgotten completely that he had promised to call on her and she had never been very good at waking up early, especially after a late night followed by a relaxing bath and other, more, personal… _activities._

So when Lotor knocked on her door she didn’t answer at first, asleep and strewn across the sheets as she was.  
  
Then he sent a message.

Or three.  
  
She has to manually override the door’s interface in order to slide it open only a little.

He’s nothing more than a cross-section of morning sun and violet hues. A sharp bookmark with a hesitant smile and soft eyes that flicker over her from head to toe.

She knows he couldn’t possibly see more than just a two-inch-width of her, but she can’t help but feel like that’s two inches too many. Especially since she's still in a nightgown and only a few vargas ago she had been—

“I’-I’m sorry, I didn’t—”  
  
“No apologies needed, Princess.” His teeth gleamed in the light. “Remember?”  
  
“Ha! An—hah…yes.”  
  
She begged to differ.

Her finger tapped the edge of the door and she frowned.  
  
“Just a tick.”  
  
“Take your time.”  
  
She most certainly did not.

Though in hindsight she probably should have. It might have saved her the inevitable trouble when saw each other’s appearances.  
  
“Oh, we’re both—,”  
  
“Are those Olkarion?”  
  
He was gesturing to her gown and she was motioning to their hair, both pulled into high tails on their heads. He faltered first, leveling his gaze at her a bit defensively.

She could see the flush in Lotor’s skin more clearly like this, the clean curves of his neck exposed even under the collar of his tabard.  
  
_Wedding tabard.  
_  
Her ears burned.  
  
“Yes, It was warm this morning.” His voice was low. She almost didn’t hear it.  
  
“Oh.” She took peeks at him, unable to help herself in the face of his strong jaw and cheekbones, clean cut and more pronounced without the white waterfall of his hair.

There were new details of him she’d never seen before. Like the sleek edge of his ears. Or the small, delicate curl of hair at the base of his nape, too small to reach the tight tail, a mirror to the larger lock sweeping from his forehead.  
  
Everything about Lotor seemed contradictory. The softness of his hair wasn’t complete without the precision of its pointed end or jagged cut. There was a gentleness in the smooth cream of his skin that couldn’t be appreciated without being framed in the harsh angles of his structure. It was almost like the genetic argument between Galra and Altean blood presented itself in any detail it could get its biological hands on.

When his eyes slid back to her she realized he was simply subjecting himself to her silent scrutiny. She hadn’t even noticed him look away.  
  
Allura frowned, then smiled, quickly, for encouragement. “W-we match!”  
  
Perhaps it’s the wrong thing to say. Lotor’s lips part and his eyes widen, tail sweeping sharply to the side behind him as he looks at the walls once more.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I mean not completely—” She tried, then remembered his words, her hands grasping at the brown and red garb she had on. “I, these, I’m afraid, these... “  
  
Lotor catches her stutter with a concerned expression.  
  
Allura sighed heavily, “I’ve run out of clothes. It’s want to happen when you weren’t meant to live on the ship you get frozen for thousands of decaphoebs in.”  
  
She laughs dismissively. Sheepishly. Nervously.  
  
Lotor says nothing, staring absentmindedly at the fringe trim on her sleeves.

Her palms feel damp as she shifts under his silence. Funny how they switched roles so quickly all the time.

“Will you make a detour with me to my quarters before our meal this morning?”  
  
The question is so out of place Allura balks. But his gaze is even.  
  
His hand is raised to take hers.  
  
To his… room?

“Ah… yes, of course.”

It’s not for any unchivalrous reason, as she finds out almost as soon as they arrive.  
  
Not that she doesn’t imagine a thousand different lascivious scenarios in her head the entire time they walk arm in arm, practically sweating in her wraps. Maybe he was right about the hot morning, because Lotor himself looks dewy skinned, the edges of his hairline glittering as he opens door after door. When he exhales, it seems shaky.  
  
She’s about to ask him if he’s alright when he leads her inside somewhere.  
  
“I believe if my memory serves me, there should be a few things that would suit you. Of course, anything you like I can take to your rooms.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Lotor eyes her quietly, motioning around him.

Closet. They’re in a closet.

It’s long in length but tight in width, and cloistered with metal racks that reach from top to bottom. Lights snap on all at once as she steps forward.  
  
For a moment Allura reels, the simple act taking her back to memories of rushing into her bedroom back in the Palace, where she could change quickly before the scheduled audience or the night's dinner and…  
  
Altean. It’s all Altean.  
  
“Oh—Oh—it’s—”  
  
“It’s varied,” he says, somewhere behind her, somewhere in the present, whilst she is somewhere ten thousand decaphoebs in the past. Her hands touch Gaban silks, Talaxian weaves and Pulloon wools.  
  
“Oh!”  
  
“And it’s all very diverse in orientation and… class.” He ends. It sounds like a tentative warning, but she can’t imagine why. “Not everything here is fit for a princess—it’s simply meant for preservation.”  
  
Allura can’t hear him because she’s pulled out a beautiful honey-colored cape to roll her face and cheeks into.  
  
It’s soft and plush.  
  
It smells like fatillmont spices from winter nights on Altea.  
  
“ _Oh,_ ” Her eyes can’t get enough of the Prince even though she has to look up to see his face at all, his height ever-encompassing. “Oh, Lotor, why, how—”  
  
A clawed hand reaches out to touch a sleeve hanging from one of the racks. “It’s all just things I managed to find over the years.”  
  
Allura stares down the packed rows and the slotted shelves, little digital markers indicating rotations for more storage.  
  
“What _didn’t_ you manage to find.”  
  
“It’s been _many_ years.’ He chuckles. “Since you find it pertinent to bring up my age once more.”

She smiles, his humor finding her heart and making her cheeks ache.  
  
“Please, Princess,” He waves past her.  
  
“Are you sure? This is all so organized, the amount of work you must have taken to,”  
  
“Yes, and it sits here cold and unfit for a Galra two heads too tall.”  
  
She swallows.    
  
“I could not think of anyone else in the universe to make more use of it, Princess.” He interrupts, nodding. “Please.”  
  
“Lotor.”  
  
“I insist.” His eyes lower gently, a small smile enough to reassure. “Besides, as I said, most of these are diverse but not diverse enough. A lot of these are gowns, dresses. Garments worth trade and expense. Pants or tunics are too utilitarian to withstand tests of time.”  
  
When she turns back at the closet, it’s almost even more overwhelming knowing that any of it could be hers if she wanted.  
  
“Well, perhaps… just one or two things for the rest of our Dethok An.”

“Hn-ah—yes,”  
  
She sees him huff out an exhale. There’s sweat on his brow.  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
She steps toward him.  
  
He steps away.  
  
“Yes,” He replies immediately. “But I should give you your privacy.”  
  
“Oh please, no—”  
  
“No, allow me to ready breakfast Princess, please, I’m sure you’ll want the lounge to yourself too, once you make your decision. I’ll call on you when it’s done.”

As… _particular_ as he looks, Allura’s glad he’d interrupted her with his courtesy because he was right. What was she to do when the time did come to change? Have him turn around?  
  
It’s better this way.

If not also because she’s in grateful privacy when she finds herself shedding tears over a garment that reminds her too closely of her mother’s.

Of course, there are many others she pulls out. A beautiful viridian reading gown, generations old in style but light and airy. Another flimsy (lower class, as he’d warned) but charming powder yellow ensemble, complete with a hat.

There are more wools than silks, an argument of durability maybe, but they are soft and warm, in dark russets and creamy whites.  
  
And while Lotor is apt, it’s more feminine articles than men’s mining trousers or flight suits, there is a few boyish tunics she sets aside. For their functionality, yes, and also because where Allura might once have ignored them for something more tailored to her; Altea is gone now.  
  
And if Lotor had been amassing these things since he had been alive...  
  
Then this was it.

It was more than she ever expected after learning her planet had been destroyed, so Allura sweeps gentle hands over rough strewn, muddy brown materials, with dingy trims—and sighs in gratitude.

But it’s the thulian pink that stops her.  
  
A color so undeniably the Queen’s, her mother’s, Allura thinks for a heart-wrenching moment that perhaps, maybe, it had been. It’s just plain enough, just a tad too vintage, that she knows it can’t be.  
  
But she still cries. A little.  
  
In a rich, matte pink silk and a second layer of sheer white, it’s a mixed flower in her hands, soft as petals. And while at first, she sets it aside to find something more appropriate to wear, eventually she can’t help herself and shuts the doors to change.  
  
Because Altea was gone. And waiting for the right moment wasn’t worth it anymore.

It fits. Sort of. The sleeves pinch at her elbows so she can’t raise her arms above her shoulders, and her ankles flash under a too-short hem, but it flows like air on her skin.

“Just divine.” She whispers to the dress, twisting to make sure the back falls wrinkle-free on her legs. And then she twirls a few more times just to see the way the sheer layer swishes and sways.

But after (admittedly) running from one end of the room to the other, to see if the ends of the dress would catch a twirl (they did), Allura realized _that_ activity wasn’t one she wanted Lotor to come upon.

And also.  
  
She was in his quarters.

Technically.

_Hm._

And she tried, _attempted,_ honestly, to keep herself to the closet. But after disappointingly discovering that all but the most hideous pair of snoozle-wrangling shoes fit her, she returned to his main quarters.

It’s all considerably smaller than her own, actually.  
  
The lounge is barely the size of her bedrooms. Tablets, objects, and clothes are still a bit scattered here and there from the quintent before.

And the bedroom—yes— _the bedroom—_ is almost laughably tiny, and oddly arranged. There’s a work terminal shoved there, and a desk, and a few storage crates. All of which look so obviously Galra it’s painful in the… whatever architecture of this place is.  
  
Altean.  
  
Somewhere, she’d realized that some time ago.  
  
It was some sort of old… Altean residence. From long before her or her father’s reign. Or even his father. And while that is in and of itself interesting, Allura finds she’s more drawn to the objects sitting here and there that are more obviously Lotor’s.

Like the sword on the wall she had seen him handle the other morning. The same one, as it turned out, as she’d pulled from his belt the day of the wedding. It’s just as surprisingly light.  
  
Or the strange Galra looking instruments she realizes are hair combs and clasps sitting on a stand by the mirror, a blatant and intimate indication of the routine he’d _just_ done that Allura finds herself blushing as she turns them over.

She can't actually bring herself to step _into_ the bedroom, but she peeks, hand on the entrance, eyeing the large open rafters and the unmade sheets.  
  
It smells a certain way.  
  
Not bad. Just… that very real, very familiar scent of sleep and warmth. There’s a crisp, sharp hint of the same aromatic synthesizer that’s in her rooms too.

It seems cozy.  
  
She finds herself at the lounge desk when he finally returns, delicately lifting up tablets to look at the work beneath them; a series of paper drawings. They’re all done in Altean Lucid ink.  
  
Mostly it’s drawings of flowers, utensils, or furniture. There are sweet, scientific blueprints of the architecture of the house that are hairline delicate and yet shoved lazily away under stacks of chips and tech.  
  
Eventually, she finds the stylus for the ink too. It’s long and elegant, with a dark nib. Altean.  
  
And ruined.  
  
Allura picks up the pen and rolls it in her hand. Deep indents and cuts catch in her skin as if the thing had been chewed up.

Chewed.  
  
Oh.

It had.  
  
By him.

The fangs from the morning light flash again through her mind and she drops the stylus to the desk, but not the image of Lotor idly gnawing on it.  
  
“Princess?”  
  
“I-Iha—I’m in here Blood Emperor Lotor!” Allura calls much too loudly and much too oddly (his entire title? _really?_ ) She slides herself to the center of the lounge as inconspicuously as she can manage.  
  
She cringed when he entered.  
  
How more suspicious could she possibly be?

It’s lost on the Prince though.  
  
“Allura.” He paused, standing in the open doorway. Where he once seemed much more refreshed, he immediately looked a bit disheveled again, brows knitting together.  
  
“What?” She tried not to glance at the desk or his open bedroom.  
  
“I could have never imagined I would ever see that garment put to shame.”  
  
Oh, _the dress._

Thank the stars for the dress.  
  
“Oh, ha, thank you—”  
  
“You’re a vision, Princess.”  
  
Her relief left her as she was put on the spot.  
  
“O-oh?”  
  
Lotor’s eyes looked impossibly narrow. The purple of his iris practically swallowed his pupil completely. One of his arms held the wall, sliding up to rest his damp forehead on it. “More beautiful than this place deserves, I’m afraid.”  
  
“Oh stop, please, I—” She waved, looking away from him, sleeve tightening. “Don’t flatter.”  
  
“I don’t waste my time to ever do so.”

Allura caught the intensity of his gaze and believed him.

But something there also relaxed her.  
  
She grinned. “Well, I don’t waste time either, but I assumed his Majesty’s looks a given.”

Lotor’s arm slipped a little. His chest heaved. His eyes went lazy.

Allura’s face fell.  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry, I, are you—”  
  
“No... apologizing…” He reminded, but his expression was pained. He inhaled sharply.  
  
“Are you alright?” Allura hurried to him, meeting him at the door, this time too quickly for him to move away from her. He looked a bit more sun-kissed than usual. The lilac of him was a deeper, darker thistle color. “Lotor?”  
  
“Yes.” He eyed her a bit warily, before standing up straighter. “It’s simply—this _heat_ —”  
  
“Heat?”  
  
Lotor huffed. Then he hummed.  
  
“Doranic disagrees with me on occasion.” He said finally and flashed a smile. His hand swept his hair quickly as if to put himself together.    
  
“The planet you mean?”  
  
“Ah, I forget how Vigilance truncated us—yes, this, is Doranic,” Lotor motioned to the large slatted viewports about the room. She followed his gesture before eyeing him.  
  
“And does it not agree with you…” She trailed, curious but half anxious she might appear insensitive, “Because you’re Galra?”  
  
He seemed caught off guard by the guess but settled anyway.  
  
“In so many words, Princess, yes my genetics are… harrowing, at times.”  
  
“I see.” She didn’t, not really. But he seemed better and probably would after—”Oh, I’ve kept you from—”  
  
“No, not at all, but it is ready,”  
  
“Yes, of course,”  
  
“Shall we?”

Breakfast is thankfully much more at ease.  
  
They’re halfway through before they lapse into the easy and entertaining talk of what sort of gifts King Blate and Princess Malcoti would take in exchange for any of their ruled sector, and Allura makes Lotor laugh so loudly, he nearly cries, when she shrugs with a simple, “likely a lock of my hair or my left sock.”

He looks better too, though she finds he nurses his water quite protectively.

It’s not long after they head to the conference room, with gathered work from their previous progress. Allura has every intention of making headway on the long-awaited peace and prosperity her father had always envisioned and Lotor seems just as determined as she is.  
  
They find themselves constantly trading tablets, talking through terms, and changing places before the screens on the conference walls, pitching each other proposals for their manifesto.  
  
They disagree only once.  
  
“A clause to ban—? Allura, _please,_ ”  
  
“There are plenty of planets and species out there who don’t even know what violence _is_ let alone what a _fight to the death_ would mean!”

“If you ban Prez Vik every Galra in my Empire would ensure at least _you_ understood it first hand and I would have to let them.”  
  
Allura glared from where she stood, pointing at the document on the screen.  
  
Lotor was sunk low in his chair, fist on his chin and eyeing her dubiously.  
  
“If we don’t what’s to stop the Galra from taking whatever new planet they want?  Or what’s to stop them from creating a situation on the planets they currently occupy? The ones the Coalition is forced to share?”  
  
Lotor’s shoulders twitched with his scoff.  
  
“I am.” He said simply.  
  
“You can't be everywhere, Prince, besides,”  
  
“Many would argue that _they_ are the ones who have to share with the Coalition.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“The Galra. Some of those planets were theirs by right. Or shall we discuss Yuuran 16 again?”  
  
“Ugh!” Allura’s hands went up, sheer skirts fluffing with her annoyance as she looked away from him. “That again.”  
  
“You’re only upset with me because you know I speak the truth, Princess.”  
  
“I’m not upset! Who said I was upset?” Allura glared, crossing her arms.  
  
Lotor shifted in his seat, raising his chin almost imperceptibly. There was a smile he was trying to hide that she could see right through.  
  
“Don’t laugh at me! I’m serious!”  

“I know you are, Allura, but so am I and you're—you are—”  
  
His stutter had her gaze looking at him down her nose, taking advantage of the rare occurrence that he was sitting and she was standing. It only gave her about a few inches of height at most, but still.  
  
“I’m _what_ ?”  
  
“Young.” He said finally, sighing into his fist, his tail slid over his shoulder and he looked away.    
  
“I am not!” She felt her own hair whip about as she leaned on the conference table, trying to get him to look back into her anger. “You don’t know how old I am.”  
  
“You’re seventy-six.”  
  
Her mouth snapped shut.  
  
“You were born on the forty-eighth generation of spring’s first month and third day.”  
  
Her fingers curled on the table, something burning up inside her like paper set aflame.  
  
He took her silence as more of her bitterness and smiled at her to soothe it.  
  
“I read about you long, long before I ever met you, Allura. Sixteenth princess of Altea.”  
  
It shouldn’t be embarrassing, but her stomach drops to her feet and a nervous ache weakens her knees. She flushes, letting go of the table to step away from him, the genuine fondness on his face throwing her so off balance she’s afraid she might fall over.   

“What a silly thing to waste time reading about.” She told the ceiling.  
  
“Why not?” Lotor asked, and she heard him stand from his seat, footsteps backdropping his words. “Can you blame a man for being curious of who his Princess was?”  
  
_His?_

“Altea was every bit the homeworld I never had, just as Daibazaal was.” He continued, passing her to stand before the screens in consideration.  
  
Allura stared at his back.

He meant because he was half Altean. Of course, of course, he would want to know everything. Want to connect with anything.  
  
Allura fingered the sleeves of her dress.

Who could blame him?

“How about a compromise then?” She asked.  
  
A finger tapped his chin and he glanced at her.  
  
“We… don’t ban Prez Vik, but we direct any inter-cultural disputes, regardless of context, to be settled by that sector’s Coalition and Galra representatives. In a manner they agree on.”  
  
“That might work, but I have to at least concur that we cannot account for everyone. The representatives included.” They met each other at the end of the table. “It’s a matter of mind for the Galra. They are so prone to battle because that is how things were won under Zarkon. He’d fight planets that already surrendered to him, just to make a point that it was the expectation.”  
  
Allura shook her head, “But that’s absolutely backward, how was anyone to save themselves?”  
  
“Think of it as a pseudo-commitment to ‘treating others the way you want to be treated,’” Lotor explained. “He didn’t expect any one of them to save themselves. That’s why the Galra don't expect to be able to do so either. In fact, most of the problem with installing our manifesto will be through acting on it.”  
  
“Acting?”  
  
“They don’t believe in words, they believe in action. Galra won’t truly believe someone when they say they hate… wine, for example, until they see that person spit it out.”  
  
“So they have to see us being kind to each other in order to do it themselves?”  
  
“It’s… more complex than—”

Chiming interrupted the room.

Allura jumped, turning to see a light flashing from her wristlet on the table.  
  
A call.  
  
Coran.  
  
Coran!

Her eyes snapped back to Lotor.  
  
He stared back.  
  
“Get down!!”  Allura shouted at him. She shoved his chest.  
  
Lotor’s shoulders froze like risen hackles, canines catching his lip. His eyes widened.  
  
“Princ—”  
  
“Get down, get down, get down!!” She squealed and put all her weight onto him, hands dragging down his tunic until he was forced to bend at the knees.  
  
“Allura!”  
  
He thudded to the floor. 

Her fingers scrabbled at his head, flustering his hair as she pushed the entire height of him beneath the edge of the table.  
  
Her wristlet flashed, the auto-acceptance systematically taking over as she’d programmed it to do so. Long before she planned on breaking vigilan—  
  
“GooooooOOOOoooOOOd AND BRIGHT—fifth quintent to you Princess!”  
  
“Coran!!” Allura exclaimed, clapping her hands really loudly as the screen from her interface constructed into a neat frame over the table. She had to yell to hear over her thudding, beating, hammering heart.  
  
“You wouldn’t believe the number of calls the Castle has been getting this morning!”  
  
“Hmm!!? Oh—ohhh! Yes?” Allura grinned, very much aware of the overbearing heat at her waist. Lotor seemed to press on her entire being despite not touching her at all.  
  
The skirts of her dress moved with his shifting and she felt her skin crawl.  
  
“Why that’s a fine dress, is that something I’ve seen before?”  
  
“Ha-Ha-HA—What?”

He tried to lean further over the terminal as if he could lean out of the signal itself. Allura subconsciously leaned backward, waving her hand. “T-this old thing—ha—Actually, yes! It, is new, hm, yes, did you know there’s a whole closet full of Altean clothes in my bedrooms Coran?”  
  
“A whole closet! How strange—”  
  
“It’s _SO_ strange, I found it yesterday and I thought to myself, how completely strange, yes, how queer, that a closet—a whole closet—”  
  
“More mysteries in the manor it seems! Just like those objects from the washroom you showed me.” He exclaimed. “I told you that you might find something to preoccupy your time if you just put your mind to it.”  
  
“Ahhhhhhhh haaaaa! YES! You were, _so right_ Coran, of course, always, so,”  
  
A shudder seemed to knock her knee and buckle her weight. She instinctively looked down, getting an eyeful of a crown of white hair level with her hips. Lotor kneeled like a Knight at her feet. His forehead was on her thigh, eyes staring blankly as he waited.  
  
“SO! _So_ —”  
  
“Knowledgeable, intelligent, quick-witted, wise—” Coran listed, swirling a finger in his mustache.  
  
Heat tickled her skin through her skirt.  
  
“All those things!! All of them.” She quickly agreed.  
  
“They all come around eventually, including you missy,” He scolded.  
  
Allura grits her teeth and smiles beyond the screen. Beyond time. Her hands fisted on the table.  
  
“Now, how goes it?”  
  
“Goes what?”  
  
“Vigilance!”  
  
“Vigilance!!” Allura laughed. Maybe a bad idea. Her whole body shook with the effect and she couldn’t seem to stop. “Vigilance! Ah! Oh, I, I’m—”  
  
Coran was eyeing her.  
  
“I’m, it’s a _vacation_ !” She claimed, latching onto the abstract earth word with desperation. She felt like she had been blasted with flaxoon felly-spray. Or drank too much hallo-oil liquor. “I’m the vacationist vacation! I spent all morning on my—hair—”  
  
“Hair—?”  
  
“Y-yes, don’t you like it!?” Allura whipped the lazy high tail about her head, taking the chance to peek down at her legs.  
  
Lotor’s golden eyes and thistle pupils stared back with an intensity she’d never seen before.  
  
His mouth was open.  
  
His canines looked, much, much too long.  
  
“You were never very good at hair.” Coran mustered quietly.  
  
“H-Hey!” Allura’s eyes found her flight master again, swallowing back a shudder to focus on the innocuous offense.    
  
“But at least you are taking mine and Shiro’s advice.” The man threw a hand up at the admittance. “Who, by the way, got into quite the tiff with Kolivan!”  
  
“Hu—ah, what?” Allura frowned. The statement actually worrying her but not as much as the—hand—  
  
_Hand on her calf. Claws on her shin._ She could feel the hot flat of his palm shift the too-short hem of her dress as he slid his skin on hers. Stars, his one hand almost wrapped around her twice! They were enormous!

Allura looked down, trying to see what was happening. Lotor’s eyes were closed now. He was panting.  
  
He was so warm she could feel it make everything from her waist down feel hot and damp. Or, well, maybe—  
  
Images of her thoughts from the past two quintents came back, placing his height exactly where she had fantasized it to be.  
  
_Oh._  
  
“It seems they had a disagreement when it came to Keith!”  
  
“Keith—” She repeated dumbly.  
  
Was he alright? Overheating again?  
  
“It had something to do with fighting in the Coliseum. Or at least that’s what Hunk told me. Either way, if anyone asks I didn’t tell you that because he wasn’t supposed to tell me that and Pidge wasn’t supposed to tell him.”  
  
“Right—! Lotor, are—”  
  
His eyes opened. His hand swiftly left her leg.  
  
But.  
  
Coran’s eyes snapped open before dragging his gaze to her face. “Hmmm?! What was that! I didn’t hear you, Princess?!”  
  
Oops.  
  
“L-Lotor-are-would—” She trailed, “he should probably hear of it!!” She hurried. “About—Kolivan.”  
  
She’d almost forgot.  
  
Coran deflated, looking almost bored.  
  
“Oh, yes of course. Quite right, the Prince would want to know, and he’d probably want to know about his Oathsguard now that you mention it. But it can’t come from us.”  
  
Allura sighed in relief.  
  
“Once Vigilance is over maybe you can share the secret with the Prince on the way back! Just another thing to catch up on.” He smiled wide, mustache bobbing. “That's half the fun of it you know, getting to splurge about all that happened and what you missed about each other.”

Her teeth ground together in her grin.  
  
“Mhmm!”  
  
“Alright, I'll have to let you go Princess. I just wanted to make a call to you before I return one to Ryner!”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
Thank the stars.  
  
“She’s been trying to arrange a visit once you return, so we can see what they’ve done with the reclaimed capitol now that it’s rebuilt.”  
  
“Great!” Allura clapped her hands again. “Okay, thanks, Coran! Wonderful! Splendid!”  
  
He beamed. She wasn’t sure if he was used to this many exclamations from her but he seemed to enjoy it.

“Have a good night, Allura—”  
  
“Yes! Good! Happy! Thank you!!” Allura hurried. She slammed the signal off.  
  
The interface died.  
  
Allura squealed a garbled noise.  
  
Lotor stood.  
  
She couldn’t look at him, she couldn’t— but she couldn’t _not_ look at him either.  
  
A tuft of his clean locks was messily pulled from the knot on his head, and his tunic collar was rumpled. His teeth bit into his lip harshly, eyes on the table in front of them. A mess.  
  
She tried to tell herself it wasn’t a good look.  
  
“I am. So, so sorr—”  
  
“Ah—” He heaved, eyes closing, cringing, “No, no apologies.”  
  
“At least for this, there must be!”  
  
“Ha.” He glanced at her, and she noticed sweat at his brow again and his claws digging into the table. “It’s fine, Allura—quick adaptability on your part, in fact. I would have gotten us caught and most likely Coran  would have flown out here himself to dole out consequences.”  
  
“Here, please—” She turned from him and leaned all the way over the table to grab the tall container of water.  
  
He looked half-ill when she handed it to him, accepting it tiredly. He practically loomed over her.  
  
“Thank you, Princess.”  
  
“Take your time, really.”  
  
“Yes.” He eyed her thoughtfully, free hand pressing the messy strands flush against his scalp once more. He toasted listlessly at her. “Vigilance.”

* * *

  
They don’t quite take a break.   
  
They leave the conference room for the library, and then back again, (and then back to the library). It’s a constant dance, an exchange, each one coming up with things they wanted to show each other.  
  
Lotor is the most accused of this, always standing from his seat when she mentioned something that he’d want to retrieve a pill codex for. A way of filling her in on all she’d missed while she’d slept.

Allura mostly contextualizes questions he has, and he has many.  
  
They cover everything from the original geography of the known universe, to which planets welcomed Galra rule, to a side-tracked discussion of how the Tal-tak species had evolved a third eye over just the last six thousand decaphoebs. (Lotor imagines they might be headed towards a fourth, which Allura finds acceptable, they had always had useless vision.)

They take their meals in the library, except for dinner, because the sentry droid seemed annoyed to have to make the trip. They take dessert there anyway, just to spite it.

And then Allura finds a solution, halfway through a bit of Calcatta cake.  
  
“What about a tour?”  
  
“Hm?”

He looks up at her from the table, his own plate empty.

She’s momentarily distracted by the sweat dotting his neck.  
  
He’d removed his tabard some time ago, leaving a lighter, airy under tunic. A creamy white thing that was entirely too sheer. It outlined the curves of his arms and the shadows of his ribs. It also made her disrespectful thoughts more pronounced.  
  
“A tour.” She repeated, glaring at him, just to make sure she concentrated on his face and not his body.

“I don’t follow.” His cheek brushed against the lock from his forehead. It’s curled more than usual, his skin is damp.  
  
“You were talking about the Galra being shown expectations,”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Father, well, most Altean leaders in our time, once we discovered or created routes to new sectors, new stars, new planets—we would make a tour, put on an exhibition, bring tech to their people, encourage development.” She said. “Like the Tal-tak, Alteans brought them radiation filtration, so they could journey to the other side of their valley.”  
  
“That was Altea?” His brows perked.

“Yes! I mean, that was more in depth, a show, really. Usually, we just made speeches or presented ideas.” She frowned. “The Empire never visited their own worlds? Or made announcements? Even Voltron did that when gaining forces for the Coalition.”

“Ah.” his expression fell, tone going flat. “You mean a Vor Ast. A campaign.”  
  
Allura scrunched her nose at the term. It sounded aggressive.  
  
“Zarkon would visit many of the more prominent territories to make... speeches.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair. His claws rubbed at his arm through his loose sleeve. “Only ever a few thousand years, to expel the inevitable rumors that he was dead.”  
  
Allura sat up.  
  
“Dead!”  
  
“Hm, yes.” Lotor looked disillusioned, and none-too-happy to be talking about his father. “As it turns out hiding away in the capitol with a manipulative witch doesn't exactly solidify you as a very _present_ ruler. When whispers of mutiny began, Zarkon would drag himself out and remind everyone who was in charge. It was at least successful in establishing him as some sort of undying god to the Galra.”  
  
“What sort of things would he say? Would the speech—”  
  
“I misspoke.” Lotor looked away.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“They were public executions.”  
  
“Oh.”

His glance was wary.  
  
The silence stretched awkwardly.  
  
“To your point, they worked.” He offered.  
  
“I imagine.” She accepted. And then tried to smile weakly. “But maybe we don’t call it that?”  
  
“Agreed.” He nodded, expression serious.

Then he chuckled.

The mirth grew into more of a laugh, and Allura found herself following suit. It was terrible, to be laughing, wasn’t it? But Allura felt the sudden tensity between them leave once more, holding each other's gazes and giggling.

The air between them was… so content. Genial.  
  
Well, aside from her erratic staring at his wet skin and large hands. Or aside from her realizing she now knew what the entire weight of him felt like on her legs, and thus could probably imagine what it was like _between_ them—  
  
Aside from that.

“Thank you, Princess.”  
  
Allura flushed. She hadn’t said anything out loud, had she?  
  
“What for?”  
  
“Your genius ideas seem endless.” He looks grateful. Genuine. “Once again I’m confronted with a plan so simple yet so fitting.”  
  
“It was obvious!”  
  
“Not to me.” He sighed, stretching his neck absently. Allura watches the tendon stretch from his ear to his clavicle. “Though perhaps it should have been, with the reaction of the Galra at the wedding, their enthusiasm leading up to it even,”  
  
“Wedding.” She repeated quietly.  
  
_Wedding._  
  
Married.  
  
_They were married.  
_  
She’d actually forgotten.  
  
Allura looked across the table at him, her _husband,_ as he fluffs his hair away from his shoulder to knead his claws into his muscles.  
  
_Oh._

“Fury, that’s right.” He muttered.  
  
“What?” She asked, desperate for a distraction from his gestures.  
  
“I had meant to review the broadcast. I requested of your green paladin, Pidge, to pull the recording so that I might see exactly what it is my people saw. For integrity, though it seems the errand slipped her mind.”  
  
“Eh! Oh well, no, I—”  
  
Lotor found her eyes with his own.  
  
“I have it.”  
  
“Ah…”  
  
“Sorr—”  
  
“No— _no_ apologies.” His hand rose like he might physically stop her from doing so.  
  
Allura let out a flustered laugh and shook her head. “Today it’s you who is better at this.”  
  
“Shall we view it together?”  
  
She froze.

Lotor’s eyes were steady, but the thistle in them was almost gone, pupils dilated as he focused on her across the table, waiting. She wondered if he was holding his breath.

After a few more beats his chin lowered. He looked resigned.  
  
Allura slid her hand quickly across the table to take his fingers in hers.  
  
“Yes.” She smiled. “That would be lovely.”  
  
“Hm.”

* * *

She tries not to think about how late it is into the night before they even start. Not that she looked at any clocks, but the viewports are dark., the sun is gone and the residence is quiet.

They pick one of the open alcoves between both their quarters. A center room in the crescent of the residence that connects to the gardens.

It smells like flowers.

She watches Lotor insert Pidge’s chip from the alcove embedded settee before having to curl legs under her and tuck in her skirts to make room for him.

They share a quick, soft smile before the holo starts.

Allura’s worried at first. Maybe this whole thing will just be an uncomfortable silence as they watch, staring in scrutiny and unspoken judgment.  
  
But then he speaks, and her worries are gone.  
  
“Your paladins impressed me.”  
  
Allura grins.  
  
“Pidge and Hunk! Yes, I had no idea—”  
  
“The translation I gave Hunk was nowhere near the amount he recited,”  
  
“As was the case with the Altean I gave Pidge! They must have studied,”  
  
“His accent is off, but the enthusiasm was no doubt appreciated. Dayak will want him adopted into her courses immediately,” He chuckled.  
  
“Dayak?”  
  
Lotor glanced to his side, before pointing. He leaned his face close to her to pinpoint her gaze. She felt his breath on the tip of her ear.  
  
“Dayak is my governess, she’s just there. At the front.”  
  
“Governess,” She repeated and saw the shadows of a spiked-ear or two behind Lance and Keith’s hand holding. The holo cut back in forth from close-ups of her to Lotor. “I didn’t know she was present.” She frowned. “In fact, I didn’t know anyone else was… that…”  
  
Her head dropped.  
  
Lotor threw her a knowing grin.  
  
“Old?”  
  
“Well!”  
  
“Again with a poor man’s age.”  
  
“Sor—” She stopped, pressing a finger to her lips.  
  
He hummed through an amused expression.  
  
“Well, unfortunately, ~~~~it was not a consensual agreement, but, when one needs a reliable caretaker for an unreliable son…”  
  
Allura couldn’t help but ignore the screen to look at him.  
  
“It was forced?”  
  
Lotor closes his eyes, shoulders dropping. A long leg bends at the knee, and wow, he’s tall even sitting at her side like this. His hand on the floor near hers is almost perfectly two times the scale of it.

“Dayak would never admit it to me should I ever ask. Not that I have to, she’s _alive._ ” He mused. He sounded contemplative. Not angry, or bitter. Just resigned. It almost hurt more to hear. “She just claims her position is an honorable one, and even if it wasn’t, sharing sentimental notions or feelings isn’t the Garla way. At least not under Zarkon it wasn’t.”

They watch Shiro delicately braid the back of her hair with crystal beads.

“Was it different before your father?” She keeps her voice soft.  
  
“I’m not sure. Most of the original records of our culture or lifestyle were lost to Daibazaal, or perhaps Haggar destroyed them. But I suspect it was.”  
  
“I see.”

Watching the Altean ceremony of a wedding takes a lot longer than acting it out. But Pidge narrates the whole thing, explaining it to the assumed Coalition viewers. The drones flick between signals, and really, had she known they’d be that close to her face, she might have schooled her features better.  
  
Hunk narrates too, explaining the procession details to the Galra, often in basic and in Galra. And while it’s helpful, Lotor and Allura find themselves chuckling softly to each other every time he interrupts with a “Tal vestok!” or a “Harl un boof!”  
  
She gets embarrassed when the drones catch her crying into Coran’s shoulder and can’t bring herself to look at the screen. Lotor keeps his comments to himself until they watch her walk to him.

“I can’t thank you enough.” He says suddenly.

His eyes are on his lap, instead of the screen, claws rolling over his own knuckles.  
  
It’s hard to focus on that when his loose tunic is angled in a way that tightens over his middle. For how broad his shoulders are, for how long his arms—his waist is thin. Petite. Another contrast of biology that Allura finds compelling.  
  
She wonders if she could fit her arms around him,

“To have been given the opportunity to amend our people.” His sentence meanders in his voice, low and high, wistful and determined. Unsure.  
  
“Lotor,”  
  
“And to have been able to see that deck,” He gestures to the holo, where the synthetic Altea gleams around their clasped hands. “It was something I could never have imagined.”  
  
“I’ll have to enforce a ban on thanking each other now!”  
  
Lotor laughs. His head falls back to do it.  
  
“I’m serious!” She urges. “How useless are we, saying _sorry_ and _thank you_ like they are hello and goodbye,”  
  
“No gratitude and no forgiveness,” He shakes his head. “You castrate a noble’s only conversation.”  
  
“Well, good.” She huffs. “Besides, it's me who should be thanking you. The clothes, the work—this—this place!”  
  
Lotor stiffens beside her, but she doesn’t notice at first.  
  
“This place… this… land, this—” She finds her lips screwing up, turning to him in confusion. “What is this place?”  
  
“Doranic…?” He offers slowly.  
  
“No, this, mansion.”  
  
“Mansion.” Lotor tests the earth word in his mouth, he frowns. “Residence, you mean. Home.”  
  
Home.

The word should have been more telling then she lets it be.

“Was it always within the Galra Empire? I had never heard of it when father was King.”  
  
He hummed. “No… you wouldn't. And no, it wasn’t. It was uninhabited when I found it.”  
  
Allura tried to imagine the alcove they were in but depleted. Abandoned.  
  
“You’ve done a wonderful job preserving it.”  
  
He eyes her oddly.

The screen in front of them is forgotten.  
  
“The Altean things here… much of it has to be from the early days of our space exploration. I hardly recognize any of it.”  
  
“Anything here is the only things I could find of Altea throughout space. So yes, most of it is outdated. It’s easier to find the older generations of objects than recent ones.”  
  
“But how did you find this place? When?”  
  
He looked to the floor and then the ceiling.

She almost thought he didn’t hear her until she caught whispers beneath his breath.  
  
“Ah... eight, ten, perhaps ninety… two... thousand decaphoebs ago.”  
  
There was no way to wrap one's head around the number.  
  
“A few years after my exile, I came across it, looking for a terrain that replicated enough of Altea’s planet. Soil tends to be the most different when terraforming or growing things. But the green was good and there was nothing else here. Nothing apex, anyway. The residence started maybe a few dozen decaphoebs after, but it finished… hm… ”  
  
Allura catches up so slowly she stops breathing.  
  
“You… _made_ … this place.”  
  
Lotor’s eyes slide to her gently.  
  
“Yes.”

It’s a very small, very quiet response.  
  
_Oh._  
  
“W-wait t-that long ago?” Her hands let go of him to better grip the floor, to better scoot closer, because she’s rapt, attentive, _floored—_

Lotor leans backward from surprise, parted lips flashing fang as he answers quickly.  
  
“Ah, I was— exiled after a failed assignment,”  
  
“You were exiled when you were a _thousand_ ?”  
  
“I was four hundred, near five, perhaps,”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Father had not realized I would live past a common Galra lifespan.”  
  
A hitch catches her chest.  
  
There’s— there’s too much too understand. Too much to realize. Her throat is tight when she tries to swallow.

“When I was old enough to gain a rank, and… having ideas of my own, _thinking_ I would inherit the throne, my father sent me to a conquered mining planet to rule.” Lotor is very much not looking at her. “It was there I realized after turning a hundred and some odd years that I was unaging like him. But _he_ didn’t realize until I was four hundred.”  
  
“He—”  
  
“He sent me there to die, I suspect. I might've too, had he not heard what I did with the planet, letting them govern themselves. As if they needed a Prince to tell them how to excavate silver.” He practically sniffed, claws flexing in her palm. “Haggar advised him to have me destroy the planet, riddled with generations of _my_ influence as it was.”  
  
Allura has nothing to say.

“Perhaps they thought I was amassing an army. Or perhaps they just thought it was funny—my father’s mind escapes my understanding.” Lotor considers her hand in his. Allura feels numb as he rolls her knuckles under his nails. A familiar sensation to her now, but distant in his words. “Either way, I refused, was subsequently exiled, and he did it himself.”

Lotor only looks at her for a tick.

On the holo, their hands are burning.

She didn’t know any of that about Lotor, and of course, of course, she didn’t, how could she? But it's also not anything she would have guessed.

Since his alliance with them after Noxcela, she’d come to realize that he had been different from his father. But this different, this outcast, for _this_ long. Too long to comprehend.

Allura almost felt guilty for any previous ideas she might have had, even if that was no idea at all.

“So this is…” She tries, wanting to lighten the topic but still lost. She looks past their alcove, to the quiet hallways and rafters, to the shadows of the gardens in this distance and remembers all the Altean objects, remembers the persil-berries, remembers the drone grid beyond the atmosphere.

“This place.” She starts again. It’s a whisper between them. She doesn’t need to talk loudly anyway, they’re close enough that her knees nudge against his hips. “Is this where you live?”  
  
His chuckle is silent, just a rush of air through his lips.  
  
“This is my home, yes,”  
  
Home.  
  
“Your bedroom was once mine.” He nodded. The lock from his forehead grazed her cheek.  
  
She remembers the strange cramped floors of his rooms. The bed seemingly shoved into an office. The full span of her quarters.  
  
Oh.  
  
“Of course, I’m not always here.” He looked away, but took her palm with him, eyes on the ceiling as both his hands now cradled her one, weaving his claws through her fingers, layers of heat surrounding her. His shoulder bumped hers. It was warm. 

There was glistening flecks of water at his ear.

He was hot again.

“It’s been since before I was summoned as Pro Tem that I’d returned here.”  
  
“It’s beautiful.”  
  
He freezes.  
  
“Ah..” He must not mean to say anything, because the noise sounds unintentional. It’s just a soft exclamation from lips parted in surprise.  
  
“I love it.” She admits. “It’s… it’s absolutely…” she struggles.

He seems to as well, an inhale from his mouth cooling the burning skin of her cheeks.  
  
“Breathtaking.”

He releases his exhale. It’s shaky and lowers his lids to a lazy pining in his expression that she has never seen before.  
  
“You can’t know how much of a compliment you gift me by saying so. You, Allura...”  
  
She decides she loves the way he says her name. The inward decision makes her look away at their hands again.

“Thank you.” His words are practically whispered into her hair they’re so close.

Allura smiles, hiding it, feeling a tightness in her chest and body that for some reason gives her the urge to cry.  
  
She looks to the holo with determination, trying to focus on the distant image of them holding hands, instead of how they actually are. Or how her legs stretch along his. Or how he shifts, slowly, subtly, to allow her to rest her head on his shoulder.  

When he breathes again, it moves her chest in tandem.  
  
“No “thank you’s” she reminds him and feels the vibration of his laugh through her cheek. It seems to echo long after he goes quiet. Like a low rumble is always present in his throat.

The fire lasts some time.  
  
A chin touches her head.  
  
Allura can’t think to comment on anything else.

The smell of flowers from the garden is soon overpowered by something cozier. A lush, warm, thistle, that teases her senses just as his fingers tease hers.

Lotor is silent.  
  
But she never forgets he’s there. He’s too tall and too warm, to forget.

Until she falls asleep.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is interested, I got a tumblr prompt for Lotor and Keith's talk in chapter 10! [Read it here!](http://aicosu.tumblr.com/post/177102842890/sooooo-out-of-curiosity-what-all-did-lotor)
> 
> Mistiqarts drew a [sexy piece](http://mistiqartsillustration.tumblr.com/post/177063840622) from chapter 12!
> 
> And Jessarts did this hilarious [Coran comic!!](http://jessarts.tumblr.com/post/176623085363) XD 
> 
> Honestly guys, I CANNOT, can ---- NOT stress, how much the encouragement and the comments and the support has just been STUNNING ME SPEECHLESS. It's so appreciated, honestly. I read and enjoy, every, single, one of your comments. I really hope the story makes you as happy to read as it is for me to write it!


	14. White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NSFW AHEAD.**
> 
> If anyone wants even more Keith, I was prompted to write about where Keith heard the word "Zol." [Read here.](http://aicosu.tumblr.com/post/177314939070/keith-mentioned-some-chapters-ago-something-about)
> 
> Jessarts drew [the wedding!](http://jessarts.tumblr.com/post/177133573778)
> 
> Mistiq drew [chapter thirteen](http://mistiqartsillustration.tumblr.com/post/177380694342), [twice!](http://mistiqartsillustration.tumblr.com/post/177346511819)

Every moment with her is a measured dance of propriety and instinct.    
  
Perhaps, as a half Altean Galra, that should have been expected.

A lot of things should have been expected. 

This Heat, namely. 

It’s not… completely unexpected. Nothing after the first five thousand decaphoebs is ever completely unexpected. It’s cataloged. Repeated. Pre-determined and almost reliable. 

Allura notwithstanding. 

Perhaps  _ that’s _ the reason then. If he could have never have expected Altea’s last Princess to be  _ alive, _ how could ever expect that she would propose to, marry, and genuinely affect him in such a way?

It sounds like a good defense, but it falls apart in other contributing factors. The time he’d had to prepare for Dethok An, for one, Allura’s mere  _ appearance _ , for another. There really was no excuse. 

Especially after this long. 

His last rut had to have been over two, maybe, three hundred years ago. If that one counted; he’d been able to repress the inconvenience down to only a few vargas with some focus. The last true occurrence had to have been more like five, six hundred past. 

And his last mate — around two thousand. 

Perhaps that’s why it happened so fast. And so… thickly.

Her hand on his thigh had burned through him like he was a pup, a kit, a damnable pre-pubescent scant looking to spread Vek, rutting against anything that walked. Pathetic. Before it had started with at least a few intoxicants and a very lewd proposition.

Ten thousand decaphoebs notched on his post and she had whittled him down to a boy barely twenty with nothing but a friendly touch to his leg. 

Useless. 

What’s worse, it’s  _ her,  _ Allura, Alfors daughter,  _ his  _ lost homeworld’s last Princess. She’s more sacred than any found Oxciphide Prong, any tellifeed crystal, and he’s  _ rutting  _ about her. 

He tries not to look down and fails. 

She’s still asleep, long-tailed hair swaying with his steps, breath easy. 

It’s simple enough to both stare at her and find his way back to his quarters. No,  _ hers _ . They were hers right now. He was most certainly not carrying her to  _ his _ room.

Dryness hits the back of his throat at the same time water swells in his tongue and he lets out a frustrated noise, tearing his eyes from her soft skin and face. 

How primitive. 

Adjusting her to the crook of his arm with one hand and opening the door with the other is much easier then he imagines. She weighs next to nothing. A blade maybe. The sword he’d unsheathed from her in the ceremony. A manifestation of his own vulnerability, and just as short. 

He smirks at the humor, chin on her head, white locks tickling his nose as he presses a clawed hand to the interface. 

He gets so used to the sweet burden, too-long too-large arms good for nothing but at least  _ this,  _ carrying her close to the chest, that Lotor is almost regretful when he lays her down into the bed. 

But it’s late, and he had too much heart to just leave her there in the alcove and too much greed to wake her.    
  
So instead he leans close, shifting her gently to the sheets.    
  
She turns naturally, delicately, still every bit a princess even in her sleep, with demure hands curling at her cheeks and legs curling up to her waist.    
  
He smiles, arranging her hair across her pillow and away from her face, guessing her locks bother her in their length as his did him at times. And then he folds the sheets upward, sliding them to her shoulder.

It’s a new feeling. 

Once again he has no point of reference for the act of tucking someone to sleep.    
  
His mind wracks with thoughts of old ventures, of squadrons, of acquaintances, of faces born, aged, and died — with lifespans he recalled in tandem with generations.    
  
No, nothing. Nothing but her. Here and now.    
  
So he takes it in, standing straight and looking down. A new first for the record. A new experience to add the others she’d given him. Dozens by the quintent.    
  
It’s not until the heat chases back into his neck that he stops with a sigh.   
  
Before leaving his hand rises up, summoning the teal interface to the wall, and his fingers direct the screens through menus to coordinate the rafters into his former preferences. An alert to wake her, with sunlight and song.    
  
On his way out he spots the only changes to the room. A stand piled with some of his decor objects from the residence, and a small collection of trimmings from the garden.    
  
He considers the flowers.    
  
She’d never mentioned she’d already visited.    
  
He eyes her again and feels something hot and heady swell in his chest.    
  
They are not the only pieces either.    
  
Retreating back through the night to his own quarters, Lotor finds dried petals, pressed into the grooves of his home’s walls, in corners, like waymarkers. He doesn’t disturb them, but his fingers slide beneath each one, imagining the Princess placing them. Nervous secrets of a lost but endearing, magical thing from folktale.   
  
It brings a smile to his lips again. There’s something strange, something foreign, something unsettling but something so satisfying to see, too feel the space, this space, being  _ used _ . 

It’s a little too much of an idea to wrap his head around. Either because it’s too unexpected, or because his rut’s sweat has dampened his hair until it leaks down his back into his tunic. 

He’ll have to spend the night dealing with it, just like before. 

He starts with stripping. 

The tunic and waist wrap and trousers are pulled off and sent to the floor immediately. It does a lot to cool his skin, but the shivers start quickly. The sensation of being bare makes him grit his teeth against the excitement.    
  
And he can smell it.    
  
Himself.   
  
The lubrication, the slick, dampening his crotch and the sides of his thighs waft to his nose and he groans.    
  
Relax, nothing’s happening that you want. He tells himself. 

There’s a pulse between his hips, a rhythmic beat not unlike the thud of heart, one strong enough that he pauses.    
  
His abdomen aches from the number of times he’s tensed from the sensation. It’s a forceful reaction to an instinctual one. He knows what the goal is, knows that he desperately needs to  _ slide out _ , desperately needs to bury himself in a heat that pulls until he spills, needs to rut, to fuck his need into flesh—it was his fucking  _ Dethok An  _ for furies sake—   
  
Lotor ripped the tie from his head. His scalp stung with pain, but the thoughts stopped. 

Ice first. 

He pulls up the interface for the waters in the baths and sets them low. They fill with a crisp frost that takes over the metal of the walls and fogs the viewports.    
  
The easiest thing to do would be to take himself into his palm and fuck his hand until he spent all his Vek, emptied his Zol, and run through his rut as quickly as he could.   
  
The mere thought sets his skin on fire, warm-tones the circles of his knees and the divots of his pelvis to a pinky-purple color.    
  
He extinguishes it to an icy blue as he sinks into the bath.    
  
The shock of the temperature sears him from feet to chest. Small sharp-knife like stabs of cold that make his hands fist on the rim. His nails squeal on the surface.    
  
He cringes, eyes squeezed shut in pain, noise strangled from his mouth. 

It would be easier, yes, but it would also be worse. 

Not only because he had no way of knowing how long this particular rut might last, but also because the thought of it — the idea of it— of doing something so lewd, to the thought of her, whilst she was only so many paces away from  _ him _ —   
  
Heat rushes to his face despite the freezing cold of his bath and he frowns.    
  
He couldn’t. 

And if he did, he wouldn’t know if he could stop once he started. 

So ice it was. 

Followed by a large quantity of Kalmekath syrup, the bitterness of the energy nutrient all but ensuring both insomnia and discomfort. His tongue protested, licking his teeth and curling, looking for the sweet and sugary taste of rut-induced saliva from smelling the Princess all day and finding nothing.    
  
By the time he changed and sat down at his desk, the pulse was gone, his skin was dry, and his claws had finally receded. 

His fingers kneaded harshly into each other.    
  
Perhaps the worst part was the muscle ache at having his nails out so often, as they had been even before arriving. Either that or the teething. An unattended rut always made him want to sink his canines into something, anything, to grind away frustration. 

He slipped a soft trim of fabric through his lips as he sorted through tablets, chewing idly. 

He would at least devote his night to productivity   
  
It worked too. 

As menial as post-reassignment was in the way of an Emperor’s duties, Lotor found himself entrenched in the organization. He found that his father, as predicted, had little to no involvement in the more administrative responsibilities of a dictator. And either Lotor took joy in the fact that he could finally fix various issues Zarkon had orchestrated, or he could address the things the man simply never had.

Funny that it got boring after the first few vargas.   
  
Boring was perhaps the wrong word. 

He was just so impatient recently.    
  
Ten thousand decophoebs of biding his time had taught him how to play the long game. How to keep content. Delayed gratification. Or, a gratification he could only assume was coming, because if it wasn’t everything else was meaningless. 

And then Voltron and the paladins thrust his world into overdrive. 

It had been incredible. A whiplash effect. A neck-breaking sprint into a future he’d only hypothesized about. 

Now he was here, past the hurdles, past the impossible. Father dead, the witch shamed away, and the entire Empire under his collar — it was hard to conceptualize. And so now instead of all that time culminating in the utmost self-restraint, it had made him think this — all this — might slip away.    
  
Now that it was all, blissfully, finally his, it was almost frustrating it wasn’t changing  _ faster.  _

Allura helped. 

An understatement.    
  
Allura had spearheaded almost all of his progression, as a paladin, a princess, and his wife. 

_ Wife.  _

The word was in his mind like a punctuation mark to every thought. A pink constellation to each cheek. A comma in his life’s timeline.    
  
She demanded his attention in its entirety. Whether it the soothe conversation of history and politics, a back and forth with someone in his court, his level, a newfound sensation of relation — or whether it was simply to stare at her. To wonder how an Altean of all things stood before him.    
  
Or how she would smile. Or laugh. 

_ Her laugh.  _

It rang in his head, a memory of her face squeezing with mirth, showing him her neck inadvertently as she leaned backward, clouds of white trailing after her in locks, thulian spreading down to her collarbones to better match the gown she wore, lips peeled and open and eyes finding his, hand finding his, whispers meeting his ears for sweet nothings of  _ ‘my lord husband,’ — _

Lotor jolted, eyes snapping open. 

He sat up from the achy slump of his desk chair, hands clumsily scattering tablets to the floor as he raised his arm to wipe his mouth. The damp teething fabric was in his lap. 

He stood, sighing.

How undignified. 

At least it was morning. 

But he’d missed her alarms.

“Princess?” The call came after his third knock and his missive. It could be that she slept right through them.

He smiled softly at the blank door, touched at unveiling a new characteristic about her on his own. Heavy sleeper. 

It was his own ignorance then.

Opening the interface and then the door, stepping into the room, he was slammed with it. The smell. 

_ Fury.  _

The smell of her, ancients, it was too much. 

Allura always hit his nose in the most intense ways. There was just nothing like her. Nothing comparable. And he wasn’t sure if that was because he’d never smelled an Altean other than himself, and she did have that faint familiarity, but it could also just be  _ her.  _

It was sweet and light, crisp and clean, a flush of synthetic juniper blooms doused in rain. Petrichor. A burning of ozone in the lining of a flower field.

But this—

Steamed,  _ wet _ —

Wafting from the bathes— 

Lotor stood frozen, throat choked, eyes closing. He could hear it now too, senses heightened to pick up the soft sounds of water coming from the rooms just adjacent. Where she was bathing. He could hear it. Could smell it. Flesh and steam. Bare skin. 

He was undone. 

A whole night of careful rehabilitation shot to the head like a lame kalla hound. A joke.    
  
A relapse, like some backwater space junky. His mouth watered, his hands ached, his neck broke out in sweat that ran down his arms and chest and hips—a pulse rocked him, and another scent reached his nose. Himself.    
  
So foolish.

He fled. 

* * *

 

“Oh! Good morning!”    
  
She found her way to the kitchens on her own.    
  
“Princess,” He bowed, one last moment of respite. His hips pulsed. He tensed against it, abdomen aching.    


“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.” Allura trailed.  
  
She was… 

Lotor sighed.    
  
She was stunning. Problematically so. Another of his gowns on her, a light and airy white that seemed to illuminate her hair. She looked cool and refreshed. A cloud on a sunny day.   
  
He could practically feel the drips of sweat still rolling down his back, even after shedding away his tabard and tying up his hair once more. He hated being so utterly vagrant in appearance. But with this Heat and her bath, it couldn’t be helped now. 

So he grinned, bearing through it. His teeth ached.    
  
“If that is an apology hidden in semantics...”   
  
Allura’s cheeks flushed, eyes rolling over the ceiling.    
  
“ _ Thank you _ for waiting,”    
  
“No “thank you’s,”    
  
“Agh—” Her hands swiped at her skirts.

He laughed. It felt good to do so.    
  
“Well then, i-it’s lovely to see you this morning.” 

He stops laughing.    
  
Allura’s brows are drawn together, quartz gaze blinking up at him through her lashes.   
  
Cordial. Convenient. Loathsome. Regretful. Luckily— but not lovely. Never lovely.    
  
No one had ever called seeing him lovely. The burning in his neck abates a little.   
  
“Are you feeling better?”    
  
No.   
  
“Yes.”    
  
Allura steps closer to him, he has to look down in order to keep his eyes on hers. His hand hits the counter behind him and he’s startled at the touch, unaware he’d been moving backward like a cornered target.    
  
Her scent isn’t as accusatory as earlier, which is a relief, but this proximity had been nearly unbearable the quintent before and now he had an entirely new one to deal with. His stomach tensed against another pulse. Luckily it was almost over, wasn't it? They would go back tomorrow. No more Vigilance. No more Dethok An.   
  
Thank fury. 

“What’s all this?”    
  
Lotor glanced at the carrying crate on the counter beside him.    
  
That. Was the plan.    
  
He smoothed his hands along the edge, sliding the lid closed.    
  
“I know your intent on seeing the alliance manifesto finished, Princess,” He said. He worded the request carefully, not wanting to derail her personal desires but also needing to get away from his own. “But there is something I had wished to share with you.”   
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“It’s more something I would like to show you than tell you,” He smiled.    
  
Somehow, she looked embarrassed, shoulder’s dipping low and eyes avoiding his.    
  
Lotor frowned.    
  
“It’s outside.” He clarified. “I had thought fresh air might make the residence seem like less of a prison.”   
  
“No, how could you say that?” Her eyes found him again, instantly, and almost angrily. Her glare met his surprise in a way that shivered him down to his hips. “It’s beautiful here! Lotor, it’s—”   
  
“No,” He had meant for him.    
  
“I don’t mind it!”   
  
“Hm.” It was all he could manage. She’d stepped closer in her offense and her tone had made his teeth ache, claws flexing at his sides in excitement. How stereotypical. How Galra. 

He swallowed, addressing her kind, if misplaced, words.    
  
“I’m… touched, Princess, you find my home so agreeable.”    
  
“Now who’s hiding apologies and gratitude in their words?” Allura crossed her arms in a pout he found much to effective. 

He huffed a small pant. His shoulders sunk. The woman had him cornered.   
  
They  _ needed _ to go outside.    
  
“Well, if you won’t allow me to do it in words, allow me to do it in gestures.” He patted the crate once more. “I had arranged for us to enjoy our midday and dinner there. It’s some distance, but the trail there—”   
  
“An outing?” Her arms fell. She was smiling.    
  
“Yes.” He shared it.    
  
“Are you saying—is there a Round here?”    
  
There’s a more tolerable warmth in his stomach seeing the excitement in her reach from ear to ear.   
  
“You are not making it easy to qualify this as a surprise.” he chuckled.    
  
“Oh yes! Yes—then, yes—” Allura was grabbing at his hands now. He tensed. More so when she threaded her arm into his, coming to stand at his side. It was endearing enough to distract him from how close she was. He patted her hand, laughing.    
  
“Not yet, Princess! Just a moment, I still need to—”   
  
“Oh.”   
  
She dropped their hands completely, burying her fingers in her hair and stepping away with cheeks to match her markings.    
  
But she didn’t apologize. 

She truly was a genius.    
  
Without the petulant place markers of apologies and polite, rhetorical recognition, Lotor found they often had to do nothing else but say things that  _ meant _ more. Even now.    
  
“It pleases me to see you so excited,” He got her gaze back for that and held it. “But why don’t you contact Coran first, while I gather the rest of what we need.”   
  
“Coran?”   
  
Yes. 

_ Coran.  _   
  
His eyes found the far wall as nodded.    
  
“I fear after your last contact he might be understandably suspicious of your integrity.”    
  
Allura was waving her hand.    
  
“No, no, no, he didn’t at all suspect—”   
  
“Allura.” He sighed. Her brows drew with guilt, the sheepish expression one he near cringed at. As if they were both trying to forget him kneeling into her lap while her hands rumpled his hair. “Even so, his usual want for a check in should be expected. Perhaps if you pre-empt it, he can rest at ease.”   
  
“And we can avoid another intrusion.”   
  
'Intrusion,' wasn’t the word he was going to use. Incident maybe. He frowned at her vocabulary but agreed. 

“I promise I’ll be quick.”    
  
He had to suppress his grin, shaking his head gently at her. As if waiting, for  _ him _ , was an inconvenience and not a truth.   
  
“There’s no need to be, Allura, take your time.”   
  
Her hand found his, only for a moment. Fingers curled under his before slipping away.    
  
“I want to.”   
_   
_ _ Ah, well.  
_   
“Hm.”    
  
He can’t protest to that   
  


 

* * *

 

“No, we shouldn’t.” He protests.    
  
“Don’t you know how to swim?”

Doranic’s wide skies and fresh air had actually helped immensely. It cooled his skin and relaxed him into a comfortable proximity. Even with Allura directly at his side. 

They walked arm in arm. Rolling her knuckles in his fingers filled him with satisfaction for never having held hands before, and relieved the pain from his extended nails. 

The walk was a simple if slightly lengthy one.    
  
He’d done it often before, designed it even, but it felt new somehow. Different. As if Allura’s presence distorted his understanding of the space, made it seem detached. Part of a different time.    
  
While they spoke, it was hard not to give in to the tempting delusion that this was finally what it was intended to be; Altea itself. 

Especially when they actually reached the Canal. The Round.    
  
“It’s—it’s—” She was frozen. He had taken the first few steps leading down to the green columned verandas that surrounded the large body of water.    
  
“It’s not finished.” He warned, swallowing, looking up at her face as she scanned beyond him. “I had intended it to resemble, but not mimic, the one at Abanea’s center,”   
  
“ _ Oh. _ ” She breathed.    
  
“And the stone isn’t correct,” He warned again. His hand squeezed hers. “It’s simply the most structurally sound for that Athenaeum, which admittedly, was a project quite out of my league when I started.”    
  
Allura’s gaze pinned him.   
  
“It’s glorious.”   
  
He’d been horrified to see her cry, but she’d been just as embarrassed, hiding her face in the shawl she’d brought with her, insisting that she wasn’t offended. Just overwhelmed.   
  
That made two of them.

Especially when they finally made their way to the water’s edge and Allura took off her shoes and waded into the shallow pool.     
  
To be fair, _ he’d  _ suggested it. But his comment had been from musing that the activity would calm the sweat racking his shoulders. 

“It’s not my capability, but the lake’s, Princess.” He grinned. “It’s not very deep.”   
  
“It doesn’t need to be, does it? Father often encouraged our people to gather in the summers to do it. And let the children play.”

Allura turned curiously where she stood, hands lifting her skirts and bunching her shawl.    
  
White in blue reflecting white. She was a pearl in the sky.   
  
He swallowed, staring at her as she stared out, imagining what she might look like with her hair wet, plastered to flesh, shoulders bare, skirts drawn up to her thighs and droplets running down her skin.    
  
_ Drink deep.  _ _   
_   
He’d brought Kalkameth, he remembered distantly. 

“They used to play music during solstice here. With tavetas and nikkel flutes.” 

His memory dragged him back a few thousand years.    
  
“Ah—I should have brought it.”   
  
“Brought what?”   
  
“A taveta.” He nodded. “I found one…” Had it been in the Quarth’s 4th or 5th sector? So long ago now. “In the 5th sector of Quarth, though it may be an older version.”    
  
“Sadly, it wouldn’t matter, I never learned.” She took steps back to him, water rippling against her stride. “I’ve never been good with… art of much kind.”

“Hm.” He hummed thoughtfully.   
  
“Wait,” Her brow lifted, smirk taking her lips. He looked away as her tone went accusatory. “Can you?”   
  
“A little.”    
  
“Would you play for me?”   
  
He stared up at the skies and wondered when he’d wake up. Being asked to play Altean instruments for the Altean princess, like a Knight of the Court or like the visiting prince he was meant to be. His teeth ached, but he could ignore it now.    
  
“I mean... don’t—feel—” She stuttered. “—obligated, or,”   
  
He didn’t. He never felt more un-obligated in his entire life. 

“If we make it back before too late, I can.” 

The water splashed about her feet as she bounced.   
  
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”   
  
“Allura, remember, no “tha—””   
  
“Oh, posh! As princess, I’m making an exception of myself!” She glared. Her hands found his again. It was nice how naturally it seemed to happen now.    
  
“As my wife commands.” He joked.    
  
She had nothing to say to that. 

They walked the Round. Allura carried her skirts while he carried the crate, free hands in each other’s, him on the edge and her beyond it. 

She asks about his playing and as they walk the length of the canal he explains his want to learn in order to carry on a lost talent, tavetas being what they were. Forgotten luxuries of lost ancients. A forgotten symbol of achievement. 

“Luxuries.” Allura scrunches her nose.

They’re actually pauper’s instruments, he learns. Or they had been, before becoming a noble’s pastime, and then falling out of style and back to the lower class. He must have found a wealthier one in the time that they had been romanticized, being crystal as it was.    
  
“No, Galra don’t exactly have instruments.”   
  
“Why not?”    
  
He rolls his eyes to the sky.    
  
Allura’s a little appalled to hear that the Empire and its people mostly consider the arts a waste of time.    
  
“When you’re constantly challenging others to the death, most everything aside from surviving isn’t a priority.”   
  
“That’s funny.”    
  
Lotor raises his brows.    
  
Allura backtracks, shaking her head.    
  
“Not dying—no, I mean, it’s funny, because they seemed to enjoy the Altean in our ceremony,”   
  
“Yes.” It’s an idle agreement. 

He has to think on the point she’d made. It’s everything but innocuous. His people hardly ever surprised him anymore, but they  _ had  _ seemed to take to the ceremony. In ways he never would have dreamed. 

“Maybe it’s simply so foreign to them now, it seems novel. And with you there, it almost seems like a way to be close to their Blood Emperor.”    
  
He frowns, grinding his teeth to relieve them and frustration.   
  
“You don’t like the term.”    
  
Lotor huffed, looking at her with an obvious expression.    
  
“Why not?”    
  
“It’s not true.” He sighed. “Or it shouldn’t be. No ruler is worth bleeding for, that was sort of the point of my patricide.” 

Her fingers wriggle in his. He bites the inside of his lip. Maybe not the best idea to casually mention murder with his new bride. 

“You said yourself that everyone thought Zarkon a god for living as long as he did.” She shrugs. “To them, you’re a slayer of gods.” Allura has that serious look on her face when she starts talking politics. His stomach tenses against a pulse and he almost groans at how tired the muscles are there.   
  
“I see the misguided logic, yes, but that does not usually inspire familiarity in Galra. It inspires challenge. I’m actually surprised I have yet to have Prez Vik.”    
  
“Father said it’s not about familiarity as much as it is escapism.  _ Hope _ .” The word is stressed. Carefully said. She stops. 

They both do. 

His whole body freezes as he takes her in.

“Often times, the people don’t see you as royalty as much as they see the possibility of them being royal. So they imitate or, compare. It’s what anyone does with any sort of envy. Not, jealousy, but, a hope, almost, or, w-what—”   
  
She’s glowing.    
  
He stops breathing.    
  
“What is it?” Her hand tries to pull away and he holds fast. “Lotor—”   
  
“Your—” He shakes his head but his eyes don’t leave her face. “Your markings.”    
  
Her skirts drop into the water as she grabs her face.    
  
“What?”   
  
“Your markings are illuminated.”   
  
“What? Oh!” She jerks. Then she’s laughing.    
  
She’s something ethereal, she has to be. White on white on white. She’s ivory incandescent. Quartz in the snow.    
  
“Allura,” He breathes.    
  
“It’s the water.”   
  
“What?” It’s his turn to be confused. He’s lost in the beauty of her smile framed by literal stars on her cheeks.    
  
“It’s actually because of you, assuming you built this place.” She turns, waving her arms out around her. The dress furls around her in the water like a flower. “Or the planet. But still, you, since you chose it. Doranic, was it?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“The atmosphere must match Altea’s perfectly, and the water—” She leaned down to wave her fingers through it, splashing lightly. It made more stars in the particles. Tiny constellations of her own creation. “has a mineral that’s processed from the oxygen in the air. Filitalcrum. Compounded with Altean alchemic matter, or, well, Altean skin,”    
  
Lotor shook his head. “A chemical reaction?”   
  
“It has to be initiated, yes, but if I  _ focus _ …” 

His mind was blank. He had no references. No thoughts.   
  
He could only stare at her. 

She brought up a cupped hand of water, turning toward him with closed eyes. 

It starts slow. Tiny suns and moons buried in her palm that almost just look like natural reflections on the still surface. Then it encompasses everything. A light. A beacon. A burning of gold that drips from her fingers back into the canal like a smelt. 

He covers her hands in his, unable to stop himself. 

It feels no different.   
  
His purple skin is washed out, engulfed in white.    
  
“The only thing I’ve ever seen like this is quintessence.” It’s a whisper. He’s not really sure he said it out loud until she answers.    
  
“Well, there is  _ energy _ in water. Ancient Alteans often used it as a conduit for our alchemic properties to other things. Which, you can see, makes sense since the fluid atoms are so much more spacious then something like roots, or metal or,  _ oh _ , you, oh,”    
  
The water slips through their hands to the pools. She’s grasping at his claws. 

Her eyes are wide.    
  
“You, your markings. You have markings.” 

The words are noise to him.    
  
This time his hand goes to  _ his _ cheek. 

“I don’t.” It’s automatic. The desire for them is so buried in his childhood it might as well have been a blatant accusation of something that never happened.    
  
She’s smiling, breathing excitedly enough for her shoulders to shiver.    
  
“Lotor, yes, you—” Her brows frown, her hand lifts to his cheek. “They—they must have just been the same color as your skin that I never saw them.”   
  
Her fingers are wet. It’s cool on his hot cheek. He has to blink when white pierces his eyes as it bounces off her hands.   
  
He cups his palm and covers his face in darkness.    
  
It’s illuminated.    
  
“I…”   


What words—possibly—ever—could..?   
  
“Look!” She points to the water below them.   
  
Oh. He’s in the pool. 

His boots are submerged. The crate is somewhere on the edge behind him.   
  
But there, in his reflection. 

He does.  
  


* * *

 

It’s a good thing he ended up bringing wine because Allura proposes celebrating at lunch. 

A late solstice, she calls it. 

He can only agree in nods or smiles because he’d left most of his words in the Canal. Which they had ended up spending too much time in, walking almost the entire circle of it, both of them boots-deep, as it were. 

His shoes sit in the field beyond the veranda, drying in the sun as they eat, lounging on linen and talking.    
  
Allura talks, anyway.   
  
“Father called it ‘having a fit,’ but my mother insisted he was actually a good dancer.”    
  
If anything, his heat seems to have finally calmed. His hands are relaxed, and he isn’t sweating. The shock from earlier had it benefits, even if he finds himself a poor conversationalist. Allura doesn’t seem to mind. 

“They didn’t often take the floor unless they needed to, and when they did it was usually abroad so I was never there. I had to learn dancing from my governess.” She frowned at her empty glass and empty dishes, stacking them carefully back into the crate and picking up the bottle once more. “Not exactly a pleasant experience.”    
  
“Hm.”

His utter contentment is almost frustrating. 

But he  _ is _ content. 

Conversation with the Princess isn’t a task in catch and release of his memories. When most things mentioned in talks is an echo of a memory come back to hark him, to compare experiences, to remind him of his age, there is no echo of Allura.    
  
He has no memory or reference for a Princess talking about her King and Queen parents dancing, of all things. Especially not like this. Not here. Not her.   
  
“She would make me stand in a room with all these books on the floor, which I couldn’t step on. And I always did, of course, but there were so many!” Her hand jerks as she gestures it. “I wasn’t a bad dancer I—oh, argh—”   
  
The wine stains her white shawl a brilliant fuschia, blooming like orchids.   
  
She pulls it from her shoulders, glancing at him before shaking it out nervously beside her. “Oh, how stupid,”   
  
“Let’s blame it on your governess.” He reaches for it. She keeps it from him, but his arms are longer than hers by far, and it’s easy to snatch it from behind her back.    
  
Her face is red but she's giggling nonetheless.   
  
They drape it around his boots and leave their things for the Athenaeum. It’s an open observatory at the end of the Round, with a pillared square that flickers on, walls of energy blinking into the sky at his call. It’s full of geographical maps and sector logs.    
  
“I should warn you now, I haven’t been here in over a thousand years, so it’s all most likely wrong.”    
  
“Seems like you need to hire a flight master.” She chuckles, waving a hand to pull down a random quadrant from the interface.   
  
He raises a brow, lips twitching. “I wasn’t aware you were letting Coran go.”   
  
She laughs into her hands, and he enjoys the sound of it. That he could cause it so easily. 

The day stretches as they start debating their memories of space.    
  
Allura marks pinks all over his radar, pointing out inconsistencies or confirmations of Altean touchstones or visitations. He shows her time periods. Shifts of worlds moving as the universe expands and expands, losing territory or gaining it. They watch the Galra Empire grow like ripples from a dropped stone. 

He doesn’t mention that he sometimes forgets which planets were lost to organic collapsing and which his father had simply destroyed. 

But he does mention what he  _ hopes _ to change.    
  
So they plan their Tour. 

“We should alternate. Coalition, Galra, Coalition—”   
  
Lotor looks down to consider her and then the maps floating around them. He zooms out the faux ceiling to the sky directly above them, flicking on the Empire map once more.    
  
“If we do that, not only will we run out of Coalition planets, we’ll be touring the Empire for roughly three hundred years.”    
  
“Wel!!” She raises her hand with his, pink breaking across his map to zoom in again. “Not all the Empire just—the capitols. The priority places! Things like H1 and H2.”   
  
He’s surprised to hear the words from her, looking back up to the rings that rotate around the flagship.    
  
“I… can see what you mean about running out of Coalition planets though.”   
  
“We can do two, one, two, one.” He suggests, dotting the four locations. “The most loyal, the most ingrained in the Galra history are the west, and the capitols—and the east are Sendak’s potential allies. Those are key for propaganda.”    
  
“Don’t call it that.” Allura sniffed. “Say…  _ visitation _ .”   
  
“Indoctrination?”    
  
“Promotion.” She glares at his grin.    
  
“Ah,  _ colonization _ , of course—”    
  
“Lotor!”    
  
He has to turn away with his laughter, preoccupying himself with the interface to draw up Coalition territory.    
  
“ _ Lord husband,” _ She demands. He swallows. Hard. He eyes her over his shoulder. “Won't you appease me?”   
  
It's a struggle not to cough. He clears his throat in his clawed fist. “Of course, I only jest.”   
  
Her expression had been worth it.   
  
She picks the Balmera and Olkarion. They talk about strategy, but it’s mostly speech jargon and fancy dinners, as most peacetime politics tends to be. 

The sky turns from blue to a tired wisteria and they decide to head back to the house before the sun goes down. 

The walk is silent.   
  
But it’s shared. Easy.    
  
Lovely.

They are arm in arm, but he’s not as cognizant of his need for proximity, nor his discomfort.    
  
He spends a lot of it trying to compare it to anything else he’d experienced. Silences shared with cellmates, solitary explorations into caverns or abandoned cities, mutual understandings of strangers for sudden bouts of intimate or sexual relations. Nothing comes close.   
  
Especially not when she rests her head on his arm, sighing in a way that makes him follow suit until they breathe in and out in tandem.    
  
The only memory he has that’s similar is the one she gave him the night before. 

They don’t part either.   
  
Back home, they direct themselves without word to the kitchens. She turns on the lights and readies the dining hall as he arranges dinner with the sentry.    
  
“No, I’m not certain how they met.” He also clarifies, just like the question of their age.   


“Not… what about their wedding? Was it altean?” her utensils go slack in her hand. She almost looks worried. He doesn’t exactly blame her.    
  
“No, I do not know. Father wasn’t…” Talkative? Caring? Concerned?  _ A father?  _ “He didn’t take kindly to questions. Of any kind.”    
  
“I see.”   
  
It should anger him to speak about it. But with her, it’s not noticeable. Nor is he wary about talking about family with her. Though anger is a reliable emotion for the topic of Zarkon. It always would be until he got back to the capitol, got back to putting an end to—

No.

Zarkon is dead.  
  
Lotor stares at his plate. 

He'd forgotten.    
  
It’s done.   
  
He’s past it. He’s here. It’s done.   
  
He glances at Allura, but she doesn’t notice his falter.   
  
Perhaps that’s a normal thing to forget at this age. He swallows. It had only been the entire thing he’d based his life’s motivations on. And now…?   
  
He stares at Allura.    
  
“Well, they had to be in love.”    
  
He’s jarred but shakes his head. “I do not think… yes, maybe you’re right.”   
  
“Daibazaal and the Galra obviously do not treat marriage the same way in the case of royals.”   
  
“You’re parents were arranged.” He knew that. The history had recorded as much for all rulers.    
  
“Yes, at a young age I’m told. But they didn’t meet until her public debut and were married shortly after. It was at a ball and her father, grandfather, had been— _ oh _ !”    
  
“What?” He freezes again.    


“Are you finished?”   
  
She’s blinking fast, sitting straight. Excited.    
  
Lotor barely glances at his meal.    
  
Allura wavers.    
  
“I mean, oh, no, take your time, I just remembered, or I thought—”   
  
He smiles gently and stands against her protest. 

The taveta is dense for such a small thing, but it fits under his chin. He has to cluster his fingers together and extend his claws for precision. The honing strings for the line of crystals are a little too thinly spread. It aches his hands and his teeth.    
  
But Allura sits demurely in the alcove, hands squeezed together and smile brilliant.    
  
“I’m afraid I will be rusty.” He warns.   
  
“Well, I’m terrible at the thing so you won’t have any judgment here.”    
  
“So long as my Princess is ready to hear the only song I know repeated.” He warns again, this time with a bow.   
  
She laughs and he takes the opportunity to tune the instrument as she does so.    
  
And then he starts. 

In his honesty, he can’t tell if he’s any good. And for most of it, he closes his eyes. Half in concentration, and half in wariness of whatever expression she might wear.    
  
She’s crying when he finally looks at her. His teeth bite into his tongue as he falters, crystal strings whining in protest.    
  
But Allura just shakes her head and waves at him, hurriedly.   
  
So he continues. 

When he finishes she wipes her eyes on her stained shawl and smiles.    
  
“Repeated you said?” 

“At your leisure.”   
  
“Alright.”   
  
He’s not sure how long it is. 

It’s an old waltz she tells him, walking back to her quarters. One she once hated, in fact. 

“But it was so beautiful, and you play just—just so skillfully, so sweetly.”    
  
Beautiful. Sweetly. He adds them to the list with lovely, and agreeable, and the other things he’s never been called before.    
  
He almost suggests banning compliments, but he’s too greedy to do so. 

“You learned alone?”   
  
“I had some records of how it was done, nearby planets that adopted some of the practice.”    
  
He recounts other instruments he’d encountered as they lean on her door frame.    
  
He’s not sure how long it is they’re there either. She’s taken his hand a few times. They laugh some more. She tells him a story about one of the instruments the paladins had explained, he compares it to ones he’d seen on distant, unclaimed planets with more niche species. 

And then for a while, they’re quiet.   
  
He rolls her hand in his.    
  
He needs to say goodnight.    
  
“You know… my… parents.” She says. It’s quiet. She says it to their hands.    
  
“Yes?”    
  
She looks at him for the barest of ticks before looking pointedly away. “Mother reasoned—or, explained, once, when I was nearing debut age, that her and my father had been strangers at first.”   
  
His shoulder is heavy on the door, weight sinking incrementally in a loom over her. She cranes her head to look up at him. He bends further down to accommodate and finds his hair intermingled with hers when it slides past his shoulder.   
  
“But, because of the nature of alliances and marriage and… time—”   
  
The nature of time.    
  
“She talked about how father was her closest, most dear companion.”    
  
He says nothing but takes in everything.    
  
He watches her lip roll into her teeth before flipping out again.   
  
“And, I find, I feel as though I can share with you things I can’t with my friends.” She blinks. “With the paladins, or Coran. Not that I can’t, just, they don’t understand. Altea, court, oh, that sounds—so class bound—”   
  
He hums, tugging her fingers.    
  
That floral burning of a scent comes back to him. He’s too close maybe. His neck is hot.    
  
“You might be, that, for me.”   
  
She’s looking at him, but he’s the one who can’t look away from their hands now. He might be shaking.   
  
“My closest friend.”   
  
My closest friend.    
  
“And mother loved my father, really, she said it so often when she spoke of us and him, her.”    
  
She sounds distant but too close. Like she’s talking across the galaxy but also whispering into his ear.    
  
“And that, that… I feel,”    
  
He has to look at her then. Has to sing pink and drink deep. Ephemera.    
  
“I  _ think _ .” She slows. “I could be there with you, sometime.”   
  
There’s a word lost somewhere in her sentence.    
  
Lotor isn’t sure he can pin it down with the hope he doesn’t have.    
  
Besides. His voice escapes him. Everything escapes him.    
  
“I’m sorry.”    
  
“No apologies.” It’s automatic. It’s quiet. “Thank you.”   
  
“No “thank you’s.”   
  
They smile. 

He can’t stop exhaling large gulps of air from his parted mouth, but somehow, he manages it enough to say goodnight. Almost.    
  
“Goodnig—”   
  
She kisses his cheek.   
  
It’s a fast, light thing. It almost feels like she doesn’t.  
  
At first.    
  
Her toes raise her up and then down again. The heat of her chest pushes his arms. And the locks of her hair tickle his ear.    
  
“Goodnight, Lotor, sl-sleep well, and,” Her hands slide away, she steps back fast. “In-in the morning we should eat together be-before the boys get here. No? I think that would be fun. Yes,”   
  
And then it burns.    
  
_ Oh no.  _

“Alright, yes, goodnight.” She’s looking everywhere but him. Her skin is blush. Powder on clay. Heated. Her hands play at her shawl. “Oh, then—this, too, perhaps,”   
  
She presses the fabric into his listless, grip.    
  
“Y-you should take it since, ruined, the wine, and—”   
  
“Allura—”   
  
“Goodnight.” She snaps, cringing.   
  
The door closes behind her escape. 

_ Fury. _

His nails wrangle the shawl in his hands. 

His cheek is on fire. 

There’s a wet, cold, hot, dewy spot on his skin, a mark of his now hidden markings, where she had kissed—  
  
_ Kissed _ .    
  
Kissed him.    
  
Lotor leaves her quarters as quickly as he can. His eyes unseeing. Undone. Broken. So easily. Fury— _ fuck _ !

Ice. Kalkameth— _ pain _ . Palen bol. Anything. He rips his hair from its tie. He’s already sweating through his shirt anyway.   
  
His tongue lolls.   
  
Another night of _ this. _

But he can’t even make it to his quarters. The smell is with him the entire way, his fingers press into his cheek, into that kiss, damn, as if to keep it there, no! 

And his mind races with excuses he knows aren’t true but just desperate attempts to give in.    
  
He can’t go on like this. Their Dethok An— _ fury! Their Dethok An, theirs _ — would be an obvious sham if he returned to the capitol in the worst rut he’d ever sported. His soldiers would smell him, would see him. 

And it can’t continue, she’s here—he’s to see her again tomorrow, sweating and panting in her presence like the beast they had fucking come here to supposedly slay.    
  
It’s not until he stumbles into the conference room that he realizes he has her shawl in his hand.    
  
And then it’s buried into his nose.    
  
His shoulder hits the wall.    
  
He groans.    
  
Lotor slides against the metal, wavering on his knees.    
  
It's beautiful. It's sugary, it’s bitter, it’s perfect. And the fabric is warm from her shoulders. From her skin.    
  
He has to spend himself.    
  
She kissed him.    
  
His teeth bury into the shawl and taste wine.    
  
His claws find his pants, pulling mercilessly, his body shakes. When it’s open he slides into himself, his cock meeting his palms, slick and ready.  
  
It pulses. Throbs. He tenses on instinct and groans. It makes him inhale. He groans again.    
  
And then he rocks, fucks his hand, there in the conference room in the dark, hands hitting the base of himself with each thrust, knocking a zol so swollen he knows he's going to be there all night until he’s spent. Until he’s wasted.   
  
Galra through and through, lusting after his new little wife with her small kisses and happy smiles.    
  
He yells her name. It’s muffled in the white of her.    



	15. Wisteria Steel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote [Lotor's POV during the phone call in chapter 13 if you want to read it.](http://aicosu.tumblr.com/post/178016869005/please-tell-me-a-we-will-get-a-peek-into-lotors)
> 
> Then, [Mistiq drew it.](http://mistiqartsillustration.tumblr.com/post/178080414859) <3 And also drew the [bridal carry,](http://mistiqartsillustration.tumblr.com/post/177873231917) [the canal scene,](http://mistiqartsillustration.tumblr.com/post/177626411375) [and Lotor's bad bad break.](http://aicosu.tumblr.com/post/177602304730/mistiqartsillustration-its-beautiful-its)
> 
> Jessarts made this [funny comic](http://jessarts.tumblr.com/post/177669669253) and this [cute bridal carry too!](http://jessarts.tumblr.com/post/177642888813)
> 
> And [girl-uncubed drew glowy allura!](http://girl-uncubed.tumblr.com/post/177701212870/some-allura-as-i-struggle-through-an-art-block)
> 
> Shewsie also did post-lotura proposal portraits! So cute! 
> 
> You guys are all too amazing I am so blessed!

Seven quintents after leaving Doranic, and she just feels like she wasted her time.  
  
And it’s her fault. She knows it is.  
  
The last morning in the residence she had woken up late because of course she had, and she could maybe blame Lotor because he had set an alarm for her (presumably) when he had carried her to bed and laid her to sleep.  
  
_Carried her to bed and laid her sleep._ _  
_ _  
_ Her ears burn.  
  
But she can’t blame anybody but herself for missing breakfast when all she did was pace in her bedroom stressing over a kiss on the cheek for almost two vargas, embarrassed and scolding herself for letting promiscuity get the best of her.

Not that it had mattered. Once she’d packed and headed out to shamefully meet Lotor at the entrance, awaiting the boys' arrival he had been—well, he had been _Lotor._

“Princess.” He takes her hand and kisses it. Almost too quickly for Allura to stop him.  
  
He’s all smiles, hair down, fully dressed in his black and purple garb. No tunics, no ponytails, no panting, no sweat. He looked just as he did as before she’d married him.  
  
Except he was…  
  
“I have allowed the red lion passage through the gridlock, they should be landing shortly—no, allow me, I should at least be good for something while we wait.”  
  
_Glowing._ If you could call it that.  
  
Maybe it was the sunlight on his skin. Or the light in his eyes. Or the constant, even, beautiful (yes, beautiful, oh well, no helping it now) smile that he maintained even when the boys arrived.  
  
It was hard to take her eyes off him, he was so, clean, so fresh, so handsome. He looked shiny. New. Relieved maybe? Or perhaps just well rested?

She almost didn’t catch Lance until the last second, when he pulled her into a hug, lifting her into a spin.  
  
“Lance!”  
  
“It’s so good to see you, Allura!”  
  
“Put me down!” Her face was on fire, blushing hard and looking past her frantic hair to see a mess of spinning colors and a warped image of Keith and Lotor.  
  
Lance landed her on her feet again, laughing. She gained her balance back as he continued.  
  
“You wouldn't beeeliievve, how annoying it is not having you around! The team is outta control without you there to help out, even Pidge has gotten antsy with all her—”  
  
“He’s exaggerating.”

Allura turns to Keith, but freezes when she sees the boy’s chin is in Lotor’s grip, face tilted so the Prince can inspect his cheek.  
  
“Keith! What in space happened to you!?”

“Nothing.” It’s horrendously bruised. Black and purple to match his Blade uniform. The boy looks to the ground, arms crossed. He doesn’t stop Lotor from running a finger over the swollen eye but he does cringe, face going red.  
  
“Keith lost at the Coliseum.” Lance says.  
  
“What? No! I didn’t lose!” Keith yanks away from Lotor, who stands straight. “I promise I didn’t, Lotor, I won that fight.”  
  
“Okay, fine, he won, but he did get a penalty.”  
  
“There’s no such thing!” Keith glared.  
  
“What coliseum?”  
  
Keith’s anger turned into guilt very quickly at Allura's question. He glanced to Lotor. The Emperor looked unimpressed. Silent.

“Uh, there’s… a training ground…”  
  
“Training ground?”  
  
“It’s an entertainment ring for those living in the flagship.” Lotor finally explained, but his eyes were on Keith. “The sport of fight is Galra tradition. There are many such coliseums in the Empire. A few on the homeworlds, and smaller ones for certain planets or outposts. It’s to promote soldier morale. Usually.” His brow twitches, pinning Keith with an inscrutable expression. His tone dips to a low deadpan. “Other times it’s for Prez Vik.”  
  
“N-no, I promise, that’s not at all what it was—” Keith hurried. “I just, Dastik and the others—it was just the Blades, we were— it was a show of devotion.”

“They got challenged to a fight from Zarkon’s favorite gladiators.”

“Lance!” Keith looked at him, hands gripping the air.

“That is Prez Vik.” Lotor sighed.

“Keith!” Allura chided.  
  
“Yeah, right!? Jeez Keith!” Lance echoed.

“Just a small one! It was fast, they were careless—and I won anyway, they only clipped me! They were chanting your name after.” Keith rushed.

Lotor sighed, looking away, freshly groomed hair whisking in the wind. His relaxed, retracted fingers tapped his arms.

“Come, help us with our things.” It was all he said before walking. Keith’s eyes closed, relieved. “We should be on our way."

“What? That’s it?” Lance raised his hands at Lotor’s back. “You’re not punishing him?”

“He won,” Lotor said over his shoulder.  
  
After that, everything felt pretty quick.  
  
Allura watched Vigilance and Dethok An end in a rush between Lance’s endless commentary, their back and forth packing process, and Lotor’s unceremonial removal of the divider between their pilot seats.  
  
He ripped it off all at once with only one hand. The adhesive tape and metal squealed under his claw.  
  
“We won’t be needing that anymore.” He smiled at her.  
  
She actually giggled, unable to help herself or the burn in her ears at his contentment.

He seemed different.

And the regret for wasting their last morning at home built up within her even more because of it.

 _Home?_ _  
_ _  
_ So she does something a little rash. (And even more regretful.)  
  
“Lotor?”

Space had been pretty silent after they had left the atmosphere of Doranic, and the comm had gone quiet sometime after they passed the gridlock.  
  
Despite their silence, the difference had been palpable, not just visible.  
  
He sat beside her, calm and at ease, that newfound glow translating in the supine of his legs and arms, chin in his hand. Claws still missing.  
  
He turned to her, smiling.  
  
Allura swallowed.

Oh ancients, the casualness offset her.  
  
“Yes, princess?”

“When we arrive at the capitol,” She tentatively started. Her eyes left him to distance themselves in the stars. “Where will we stay?”

He’s quiet.

Her teeth pinch her lip.

“Allura?”  
  
Of course, he needs clarification. She was being ridiculously vague in her embarrassment.  
  
“I imagine,” She began again. How could she broach the topic? Tradition, maybe. “That your father and mother,” Bringing up his parents probably isn’t the best route. But when she gazes at him, he’s still utterly relaxed. Open. Her hands fisted in her lap. “And all the former rulers of the Empire. Or, Altea, for that matter, were congregated together after marriage. Most are. So I was wondering if that was expected of us as well.”  
  
“Congregated.” He repeated.  
  
She blinked, gaze stuck on the fangs peeking from under his parted lips.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Are you inquiring about living quarters?”  
  
“Yes.” She tries not to cringe.  
  
The thought had struck her hard and fast, and seems to do the same to him as she brings it up. But it is a valid question, isn’t it? After all, Dethok An had been necessary not to cause any suspicion. Would they return simply to separate at the daily level not be even more suspicious?

“I had not imagined, you, have, were—”  
  
His stuttering takes them both by surprise.  
  
She watches him close his eyes and take a breath. And then he’s that crisp composed all over again.  
  
“As head of the Coalition, I am certain my people would understand your need to stay close to those you represent.” He was inexpressive now, and Allura frowned as he continued. “And I would never assume to steal you away from your Castle, or negate returning to Olkarion if that is the case.”

She sits up.

“What? Olkarion?”

Lotor levels his gaze at her, “Or whatever territory is deemed fit for the headquarters of your people. I do not presume to tell you where to go.”

“I wasn’t implying that I leave the capitol.”

“No, but it should be mentioned.” He looked away from her. “Unlike my mother and father, or yours, we are two head of two very different factions. Selecting to exist in only one of them has the potential to show bias.”

She hadn’t thought of that. Not at all.  
  
Her throat is tight.  
  
“I had meant,” Oh, her voice is much, much too high. “more directly, everyday quarters, or—”  
  
“Yes.” He interrupts.

Lilac turns violet.  
  
She looks up at him from her lashes. He holds that gaze. His shoulders heave in and out slowly.  
  
“Allura,” It’s a whisper. His hand reaches across the short space between their seats. He takes hers, soft, but not tentative. His thumb rolls over her knuckles, a feeling she misses now. A whole movement later, after this mistake. “I’m always impressed by the care you have for such societies. Especially when so much of it is of my own people.”

“It’s only silly matters of court—”  
  
“And what sort of Prince am I, that I do not think of them?” He chuckled, a knowing but amused look on his face.  
  
She didn’t have much to say to that, so she just closes his fingers in both her hands.  
  
“But I would not…” Lotor’s head leans away, strained. “wish to subject you to sleeping in the same quarters of your enemies.”  
  
He means Zarkon. And for a moment, yes, the thought boils down in her stomach. To be sleeping, living even, in the same bed and room as the man who destroyed her family. Her home.  
  
It's enough to turn her eyes away, to turn away from asking — from what she was going to suggest.  
  
“I didn’t think of it.”  
  
“I won’t make the decision for you, Allura.” He continued. “And, if you decide to locate there despite it, I will arrange it to be as welcoming as I am able. There are, within the private chambers, two bedrooms, as well—for your chastity.”

It’s hot again. Her hands tap against his nervously.  
  
She wants to show strength. Wants to tell him how important she considers their union, how much it means to her that this alliance works. That they do this for everyone.

Or how much she’d come to appreciate his company.  
  
But it’s overwhelming.

And she remembers the dark, sharp hallways of the Galra ship and balks. Maybe it’s simply because they were going back, that Vigilance was ending. Funny, she almost wished Lotor hadn't negotiated down the length.  
  
“What about Doranic?”  
  
His brow twitches, eyes widening in surprise.  
  
“What of it?”  
  
Allura frowns.  
  
“What of staying there?”  
  
“Ah—you, when…” His fingers thread and unthread hers, teeth biting his words as he struggles to find them. “Would, you—you would wish.. _there_ , I had...”  
  
He’s so tense that a weight sinks her in her seat. How silly. And presumptuous.  
  
“That’s obviously not possible, I’m sorry, I realize that. You would most likely wish to keep your haven exactly that—and it’s not close enough to the capital, and it’s symbolically an Altean construct, your generals would of course not approve of such a notion, forgive me, that was not a well thought out answer to the issue or—”  
  
“No, no apologies.”

She stops.  
  
Lotor is smiling. Confident and content once more.  
  
“When we return from our eventual campaign, perhaps we take another leave there, at home.”  
  
_At home._ _  
_  
Allura is warm from the inside out.

“Yes.”  
  
And that’s the last she saw of him.

Well not quite.

They arrived together, obviously, to a docking party a lot larger than Allura expected.

She tries not to stare at the group of Galra generals standing behind the paladins as they exit the shuttle.

“Congratulations you too! And happy day of Indulgence!!”  
  
As honestly thrilled and fond she is to see her royal flight master, Allura can’t help but tense when he hugs her.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it!?” He laughs patting her back

Allura’s smile is tight, staring at the ceiling. “Ah—n-no, it was fine!”  
  
“Indeed! And that’s what makes it so fun!” He pulls back, face bright and mustached wide on his smile. “The trip home must have been filled with joyous conversation! So much catching up to do!”  
  
“O-of course!” She’s, turning to Lotor standing beside her. His lazy eyes are staring above their heads, at his Generals. They still look a little tired.  
  
He had fallen asleep almost immediately after their short conversation in the shuttle. Hand still in hers, Allura’s arm had cramped when he’d sunken low in his seat with parted lips and silent, slow breathes. She hadn’t had the heart to wake him at all, especially after getting a closer look at his slumbering eyes and noticing the deeper, more weary edges of his face, as if he hadn’t slept in days.

Not that she had watched him sleep the rest of the trip. No, not at all.

“I’m proud of you both, especially you, my newest Son-in-law!”  
  
That gets his attention.  
  
Lotor stiffens, eyes casting downward in surprise.  
  
Allura’s feels her neck burn.  
  
“Hn?”  
  
“I never dreamed that the day my own family expanded it would include the Emperor of the Galra. But I suppose everyone in my long lineage has had some high standing connections!” Coran noted, tapping his chin thoughtfully before closing the gap between him and Lotor and reaching up to pat his shoulder. “Quite literally in your case, son!”  
  
“Son—”  
  
“Coran, please!” Allura said, feeling the heat spread to her cheeks.  
  
“Can’t an old man show his pride!”  
  
“Emperor Lotor.” It was Kolivan. The other Galra had approached as well.  
  
Coran’s hands fell away from Lotor as he took a step forward.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Might we have some of your time.” It was another General this time. One with red armor and large ears. His yellow eyes moved from Lotor to her, to Coran and the paladins. “Alone.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He turned back to them, and while he still looked as confident as this morning, Allura was sad to see the smile from the shuttle gone. She felt a weight sink into her stomach when he bowed.  
  
“If you excuse me.”  
  
“Of course,” Coran says. But he sounds as aloof as she feels.

They watch him go, the small entourage trailing with him from the docking bay. Including Kolivan. And for a moment she’s distracted by the siciri beads she spots in the Blade’s hair. Odd.

“What was that about?”  
  
Allura turns to Pidge with a worried look. “I’m not sure.”  
  
“The commanders and advisors have been quite antsy to see him. They were here even before we were.” Coran says.  
  
“Whatever it is, I’m sure we can trust the Prince to keep us updated. Right, Allura?”  
  
“Shiro.” She smiles and finds herself coming to hug the black paladin. He returns the gesture, bringing her close. “Yes, you’re right, he will.”  
  
“How was your vacation?”  
  
When she pulls away she’s just grabbed into another hug with Hunk. Pidge joins too.  
  
She laughs over their shoulders.  
  
“It was just wonderful!”

* * *

  
What’s not wonderful is _that_ is the last time she sees him for a whole movement.  
  
It’s actually quite infuriating to come back from a broken Vigilance to another one. One actually enforced if not intended.  
  
But his Empire keeps him understandably busy.  
  
She has a strange deja vu of after her Taal Selva when she heads to the survey room some quintents later only to find it closed and guarded for a ‘private meeting’ with the Empire’s high command.  
  
“But I will tell your _lord-husband_ you called for him, Empress.” The guard smiles a familiar, toothy grin.  
  
“That’s not necessary.” She glares, already taking steps backward.

There’s not really anything to preoccupy herself with either.

Especially not with her paladins.  
  
She suggests running drills to keep the team fresh-footed only to be greeted with awkward expressions and avoided gazes.  
  
Apparently, they had been.  
  
“You aren’t angry about it, are you?”  
  
It’s Shiro who asks, when he finds her standing on the railing, overlooking the Lions.

“Angry?” She looks at him before looking back at Lance, exiting Blue. “Why would I be angry about it?”  
  
“I know what it meant to you, to follow through with your father’s legacy, to be apart of the team, and, I want you to know that you still are.”  
  
Allura smiles, leaning down on her elbow to rest her head on her hand. It’s almost funny how right her choice had been, asking Shiro to walk her to Coran in her ceremony.  
  
“I know that.”  
  
And she does. If anything she felt more sympathy for Lance and Keith. She hadn’t even noticed who had landed Red on Doranic, or who was piloting, how could she? And she knew Keith felt more attached to the Blades than ever. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was more conflicted than her.  
  
He looked alright though. At least from this distance.  
  
“I think maybe Blue knows that too.” She says wistfully, watching Keith and Lance talk, pointing to Red and gesturing at each other. “In a way Shiro, I am fulfilling my father’s legacy. But as a princess. Not as…”  
  
“Paladin.” Shiro finishes. He leans on the rail with her. “They do tend to sense things we don’t.”  
  
“Hm.” She hums.  
  
She wonders if that means that Voltron as a whole might go a little less needed. With an alliance underway and so much of the universe already in Galra or Coalition territory, she can’t imagine there would be anyone else who would dare challenge them. It sounds a little… imperialistic in her head, but is no less true.  
  
Aside from Haggar, of course.  
  
And Sendak.  
  
She frowns.  
  
“Have you heard from… Lotor at all?” She asks as nonchalantly as she can.  
  
“Me? I thought you had by now.”  
  
“No.” She turns to his surprised expression with a worried one.  
  
“You haven’t called him?”

“N-no…” She trails and gives him a sheepish smile. “I-I’m sure it’s fine. There’s a lot of catching up to do for us both.”  
  
Well not for her. She sighs.  
  
“Maybe. Kolivan did mention he’d been radio silent for some time during the trip.”  
  
Allura froze.  
  
“I haven't spoken to him at least two or three days before you two arrived back here either.”  
  
Her hands tighten on the railing.  
  
Had Lotor really not contacted anyone after they’d broken their silence? Oh. Well, actually, no he couldn’t have. She’d been at his side almost every varga of every quintent after, hadn’t she? She hadn't meant to distract him so thoroughly.

So this was her fault then. Taking an Emperor away from his Empire to pick some flowers and have a picnic.

How irresponsible.

“We should have taken breaks.”  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
Allura stands straight. Woops.

She stays quiet.  
  
“Allura?” Shiro leans to see her face.  
  
She leans away.  
  
“Allura.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“What?”  
  
She catches his smile from the corner of her eyes, gaze knowing. Smug. Her own face breaks out in a sort of hysterical laughter.  
  
“Stop it, Shiro!”  
  
“You two didn’t Vigilance at all.”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She waves him off, fingers smacking his shoulder. He sighs but pulls away, shaking his head.  
  
“That answers that, then.”  
  
She bites her lip, blushing, again. She seems to always be blushing lately.  
  
“Don’t tell Coran.”  
  
“You don’t have to worry about that, I don’t think I have that kind of courage.” He laughs. “But now it _really_ isn’t Vigilance anymore, is it? No reason you can’t give him a call. Especially since you two have... gotten to know each other better.”  
  
“Right.” She says.

* * *

  
“Right.” She says again, this time at her wristlet.  
  
It sits silently on her vanity.

Not a big deal.  
  
They had been together most of Vigilance. There’s no reason to feel odd about calling him now.  
  
_Her husband._  
  
“Ugh.” She slumps her head into her hands. The strangeness was all her fault. That stupid kiss.

As warm and soft as his cheek had been, she’s not sure if it had been worth it.  
  
Especially not after that night. Not after pressing her lips on her hand to imitate the same sensation as she rocked herself to fullness, desperate and hurried, eager and ashamed in her last night, in his former bed, with him not so far from her, before returning to the very-real-fakeness of what this arrangement actually was. _Arranged._ _  
_ _  
_ Allura swallows.  
  
“Right…”  
  
This was political. He was absent because of said politics, and this call was also, politically motivated. In fact—as such, it didn’t even need to be a call.  
  
She snatched the interface, pulling up her screen for messaging and typing the holo quickly.

> _—Lotor,  
>  Might we arrange a meeting with the paladins to discuss the plans for our campaign?  
>  —Allura _

There. That was formal, wasn’t it? No need for anything as silly as ‘I miss you,’ Not that she did. Nor did she need to call to see or hear him. That certainly wasn’t a requirement in order to get alliance business done  
  
She slid the missive away and set the wristlet down before she could second-guess herself.  
  
Good.  
  
She stretched from her vanity with a long sigh, closing her eyes. That was that, then. She could take a bath maybe. Get ready for the next day. Get to sleep early. Even if he didn’t answer, maybe she could get some progress done herself and contact the planets they were interested in to arrange the trips.

A chime snapped her eyes open.  
  
It didn’t stop.

She snatched the wristlet, staring.  
  
A call.

Allura dropped it to the vanity. It clattered over her bottles and trinkets, and she hurried to still it, heart beating through her chest and into her ears as she clicked through the flickering screen.  
  
It loaded and her hands grabbed at her hair frantically, arranging it behind her and pinching her cheeks.  
  
“Allura.”  
  
“Lotor!”  
  
“Forgive me.”

He’s lit only by the screen in front of him, turning his skin to a hushed wisteria and his hair a quiet steel. His hands curl at his chest. He’s declawed, fully garbed, weary-smiled, and an absolute relief to see.  
_  
_ _Absence makes the heart grow fonder._  
  
Apparently, Vigilance does its job.  
  
“Just because we’ve returned doesn’t mean we can start apologizing to each other again.” She says. Odd how automatic the familiarity is now. Her head sinks into her hand, hair spilling onto the table, happy when he almost mimics the action in his own seat, long fingers covering his smile as he leans forward.  
  
His chuckle is low and heavy. It carries through the Galra flagship into her Castle room, heating her as if he was right there.  
  
“As you command.” He makes a show to bow, but it’s more of a nod. “I shan’t feel remorse for the time of my call either, I take it?”  
  
“That’s a semantical apology.” She gives him a critical look. “And we were up later than this, by comparison.”

 _At home._ _  
_  
“So we were.”  
  
The silence is warm. Almost a little uncomfortably so. Allura wonders if he’s recalling her falling asleep on him. Or maybe her kissing his cheek.  
  
“W-we should discuss the campaign.” She broke the thought, and hopefully his too.

“Yes.” His expression goes a little serious, sharp eyes leveling at her. She frowns.  
  
“Unless things have changed?”  
  
“No, in fact—you're rightly timed, princess,”  
  
“Am I?”  
  
“Yes, by unfortunate situations, but yes.” His eyes close for only a moment. “I’ve been informed of hostile activity in the east sectors, along the Yuul quadrant.”  
  
“Sendak.”  
  
“Hm.” His confirmation is none too happy. “It seems the _Fire of_ _Purification_ ,” His tone is none-too-impressed. For some reason, she wants to smile. “have been impatient with their numbers, so they are spreading propaganda. A campaign of their own.”  
  
“To what ends?”  
  
“They hope to turn some of the furthest territories against my rule. They’ve been visiting planets in attempts to sway changes in loyalty. Or rebellions under their banner.”  
  
“Have they done so?”  
  
“Not yet.” He sighs. “The overseers of said planets have called in the points of contact. They would not do so if they were not at least the smallest bit loyal to the throne, if not to me. Which is… something. I suppose.”  
  
“It’s at least telling that they’d consider you first rather than defect.”  
  
Lotor hums as if he doubts the statement.  
  
“Do you think they would?” Allura tries to catch his distracted gaze.  
  
It’s strange how far away he is even though he’s right there. But in the shadows of the holo, she can’t reach to thread her hand in his. Funny how that action had turned so instinctual. They had… seemingly adapted well enough to each other’s company in the short time of their stay together.  
  
Or maybe that wasn’t so surprising.  
  
It was she who had called him her closest friend. The person more like her than most.  
  
“It’s not… I,” He caught her gaze and she almost saw a similar expression flash through his face. His hand fisted and unfisted on his desk. Or maybe she imagined it all. “I’m not certain. Not as if I blame them should they do so. As far as most Galra are concerned, I would be nothing but a copy of Zarkon’s rule, since he was, after all, my father.”  
  
Allura scrunches her nose.  
  
“My exile makes it convenient for Sendak to make such claims since no one got to know my methods or has examples of my motivations. And while some would want exactly what my father wanted, many know enough of me to think me weak. Or a pacifist.”  
  
“Aren’t you?”  
  
Lotor looks surprised, head leaning away to blink at her.

“Ah—a pacifist! Not weak!” Allura raises her hand as if to pull him back.  
  
He laughs. She sighs with a weak chuckle of her own.  
  
“No, not in the way Galra define it.” He shook his head. “In any case, they wouldn’t know that. Especially not after marrying an Altean and whisking away to frolic about my Dethok An.”  
  
Allura looked away.  
  
“And especially not the eastern front.”  
  
“So…” She trailed. Her finger traces errant patterns on her vanity. “You’re saying, they are running around trying to recruit planets to their cause, and as such, we should reinstate them.”  
  
He smiles, chin coming to rest on his palm. His gaze flickers up and down on her.  
  
“Yes. I am.”  
  
She grins, mouth closed, humming.  
  
“We had planned to head there eventually, but would you mind princess, if we changed course to head there as our first Galra planets, after the Balmera?”  
  
“That’s acceptable.” She’s still a bit lost in his gaze, wistful thoughts on his skin. In that wisteria.  
  
“Then yes, we should meet with your paladins about the campaign. And perhaps start the tour early.”  
  
“How early?”  
  
“The end of this movement, actually. I would prefer to head off Sendak and his… misguided fleets before they can make any true headway.”  
  
“Alright.”  
  
He’s still smiling, but his eyes go a little sad, almost.  
  
“I’m sorry. We have only just returned and already we are headed back out there.”  
  
“Lotor! No Apologies.” Her fingers make the screen flicker when she points at him. He’s laughing when she continues. “And besides, this was the plan all along.”  
  
“Was it? I had thought you might want to take reprieve from my company for at least a little longer than this.”  
  
“Never.”  
  
His laugh stops at her automatic reply and Allura makes a strangled noise when she realizes she said it.  
  
“N-never!” She repeats, doubling down, but this time with a more light-hearted, nobility-lilted tone. “I much e-enjoy our talks together! Ha! I missed them already, even!”  
  
It doesn’t make it any better.

Not only are her cheeks burning, but her ears, her neck, and her stomach too.   
  
“I-I’ll let the paladins know and set up a conference.”  
  
“Hn.”  
  
The silence stretches into the night.  
  
And though it’s awkward, Allura feels so relieved to hear from him she can’t help but regret not suggesting she just move into the royal quarters when she had the chance. They could have had this discussion that first day, in fact, without all this mess.  
  
“You are inspirational, it seems.”  
  
Allura turns back slowly.  
  
He looks a little dazed, looking at her.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Some of my High Command have begun tailoring mesh or silks to their armors.”  
  
Allura frowns, shaking her head. “What do I have to do with that?”  
  
“They are blues and golds and whites, fashioned as your ceremony gown was.”  
_  
Oh._  
  
“Or they tie things in their hair, as many as they can, to show to each other how much smarter they are than each other.”  
  
“I-It’s not a competition!!” She’s laughing through her response. Her hands clasp together.  
  
“Everything is with the Galra. Even Kolivan seems prone to—”  
  
“Yes! That’s right!” She remembers, leaning forward almost secretly. “I saw him when we landed.”  
  
“Mmm, he is affected by the trend even if he pretends not to be.”  
  
“How odd.” She breathes, “I never thought… It’s not something that seems…”  
  
“Is it…” He trails. “Offensive to you?”  
  
“N-no…” She has to think about it, but she finds that her first response is still a genuine one though. “Perhaps it would have been, but things have changed… since I, since we wed.”  
  
He shifts.  
  
“And Altea… we were never private. We often held ceremonies in other places or, carried ideas of our home with us. Even though siciri are really only ceremonial, it’s almost… it’s nice to see them, even in a slightly wrong context, then not to see them at all.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
“Maybe I just did not expect… It is a _bride_ thing.” She ends lamely, giggling.  
  
“Most Galra do not consider roles in competitions.” Lotor smiled. “I’m sure our dear Kolivan simply believes a Blade be perceived as the most learned of all.”  
  
“I’m surprised Keith has not followed suit then!”  
  
“Ah!” He laughs. “Yes! Our eager gladiator!”  
  
“Oh!” She rolled her eyes. “I blame you for all that!”  
  
“What cause for am I?”  
  
She pins him with an accusing look, complete with a smirk. “You were the one who knighted him your Oathsguard. And now he’s making blood pacts and fighting in pens—”  
  
“Ah.” Lotor looks away. “Perhaps I did not know humans so impressionable.”  
  
“Only as impressionable as Galra it seems.”  
  
And then his gaze his back, lips parted, eyes glossed.

“What a slight, _dear wife_ , how is anyone supposed to be unimpressed by you?”  
_  
_ _Oh._  
  
Well.  
  
Allura’s hands come up to press at her cheeks and hide her mouth.  
  
A cold shiver hits her warm skin and she trembles in her chair. Her legs cross together, eyes darting away from his smile that’s so… sharp, so curled at the edges, it looks like _trouble._ _  
_  
“W-we should ban compliments,” Allura says, not looking at him. “We rely on them too much to make civil conversation.”  
  
She hears his chuckle through her chest even as she stares at one of her perfumes.  
  
“I had a similar thought, but I am far too selfish to agree.”  
  
His voice is so…  
  
Allura looks up at him and feels her throat tighten. Her body tighten. Everything is tense. But not in pain.  
  
She sighs, slow and content.  
  
There isn’t anything like this. His company.  
  
She could stay in it forever.

* * *

  
She does. Or—at least she does until she falls asleep.  
  
She can’t remember at what point it happens either.  
  
They had either been speaking about the Altean custom for natalday celebrations, with its different kinds of presents depending on the decophoeb of age or perhaps it had been when he explained he didn’t know when his own natalday was.  
  
Had she suggested he pick a date he liked best? Or had she dreamed suggesting that and the type of present a 10,000 decophoeb aged person should receive?  
  
Either way, she woke up cramped, aching, splayed out on her vanity with her hair in a pot of face powder and her wristlet empty sans one new missive.  

> _—Allura  
>  Goodnight, princess.  
>  _ _—Lotor_

It was only slightly horrifying.

And as horrible and embarrassed as she felt, the useless weight of worry is gone.  
  
Instead, she’s filled with anxious giddiness that she can’t seem to get rid of.  
  
Not until the meeting, anyway.  
  
It’s all business almost immediately, and Allura almost feels chained to her chair when he first enters the Castle’s conference room, bowing to the others and stopping to confer with Pidge about flagship frequencies.  
  
Her legs bounce impatiently as she watches him walk to the table across from her. He looks tall, clean, and actually, honestly, well-rested this time despite his air of seriousness.

His gaze finds her with a smile she can’t help but know is a tad _secretive._  
  
She burns.  
  
But the meeting is more or less a success.  
  
“If it’s that pressing we head them off, why not go there immediately instead of Balmera?” Keith is staring at the eastern planets in the large holo above the conference table.  
  
“Hey—” Hunk glares, arms crossing.  
  
“While Sendak’s forces are indeed a pressing matter, it is the Coalition we must be the most careful with,” Lotor explains. His hand comes up to reach into the stars, a clawed finger tapping the Balmera planet into a bright purple. “The Balmera is on the way, and it ensures to everyone that the Alliance is at the forefront of what this tour means.”  
  
“That should give us more time to make contact with the rest of the planets we mean to visit.” She adds.  
  
“As well as some easier distance to send out trackers for Haggar,” Pidge says to the control panel at her fingers. She lights up a series of green dots where her drones trajectories pattern out around quadrants.  
  
“Exactly.” Lotor nods. “I also want to make a gesture of goodwill to the Fire of Purification, and invite them to our visit on the eastern front. I can ensure their agreement at this time.”

“Wait… what?” Hunk frowns.  
  
“You want to invite Sendak to the tour?” Shiro looks every bit as confused as all the paladins do.  
  
“Perhaps a more intelligent representative of his own rebellion, but yes.” Lotor's brows are high in their indifference.  
  
“Someone with more beads, then.” Allura hushes beneath her breath.

Lotor laughs, long and hard, hand stilling in the air and eyes closing.  
  
Allura grins. “Kolivan maybe.”  
  
“Ah! What success in his divergence then,” He goads, leaning on the table with a wide, fanged smiled.  
  
“Do you think Sendak partakes in silks?”  
  
“I think he partakes in the same indulgent mishaps as our friend King Nanlnen, and his firstborn son.”  
  
Allura laughs this time, leaning away to cover her mouth, shaking into her chair.  
  
It’s a tick before she realizes she sounds quite loud.

Her eyes open to the room around her, where the paladins are all staring at her, silent.  
  
Coran has one eyebrow higher than the other and his mustache is crooked beneath his glare.

“Um!”

“Oooooookaayyyyy,” Lance drawled. “What?”  
  
"Unn'nno.” Pidge shrugs wordlessly.

Stars. She hides her head in her hands.  
  
“I intend to invite a few from Sendak’s forces in order to have them witness our strength and the solidarity of our union.” Lotor continues swiftly. He sounds a lot more unabashed than she feels. “It’s a show of confidence and with any tact, if the tour is successful, it will either dissuade many from following the fool, or it will at least give them a chance to make their challenge early and fail early.”  
  
“A fight on your own terms.” Shiro is nodding.  
  
It’s hard to watch the conference now that Coran seems to be throwing her daggers across the table.

Allura sinks in her seat.  
  
“Sounds like a plan, a great, really cool, plan—when do we leave for Balmera?” Hunk asks.  
  
“In the morning, unless there are prior engagements.”  
  
“Is it alright for you to be leaving the throne so often?” Keith wonders aloud, looking tentative but curious.  
  
“Considering my father spent the last of his days gallivanting around looking for an errant lion or his disreputable son, I can’t imagine my people find my exploits much different.”  
  
“Good point, never mind.”  
  
“Your concern is well founded. Much of the beginning of any reign is marked with sudden changes and erratic reassurances, though. Once lasting peace is established I imagine I will be spending much of my old age taking daily audiences and waving absently in coliseum crowds.”  
  
“I... I didn’t mean it like that,” Keith trails, blinking fast.  
  
Lotor smiles at him. “I jest.”  
  
Keith flushes. “Right.”  
  
Shiro is smiling at him too.  
  
“Well, I guess we should get ready.”  
  
They break the meeting and Allura means to speak to him. To Lotor.  
  
But.

Coran.  
  
She turns a corner out of the room, intent on following white hair out the docking bay of the Castle only to run straight into the flight master.  
  
“Quite the cozy conference of camaraderie, wouldn’t you say, princess.”  
  
“Coran!” Her hands are up instinctively. Defensively.  
  
“It got me thinking.”  
  
“O-oh?”  
  
Oh no.  
  
“A campaign tour around the territories of both sides, making speeches of unification followed by manifesto signings of treaty agreements for over-arching quadrants and followed by celebratory dinners!” He breathes. Allura cringes. “What genius! How did. You both. Think of it?”  
  
“Well—”  
  
“—so quickly?”  
  
“Oh.” Her smile is painful. “Well, we… _talked_.”  
  
“Really! Did you? When? Hmmm?” He hummed, leaning so far forward Allura had to bend backward. Already aching from falling asleep in a chair.

“In, in, in, in the shuttle!” She hurried. “Yes, we, talked about—remember how you said so much catching up to do! Haha! Yes, it was exactly that, ha, so much—to say, to think of, to do, why, so much!”  
  
“Allura.”  
  
“And then after we, you know, s-sent a message or two?  
  
“After or before Vigilance?”  
  
“W-what do you mean?”

Coran’s looming form makes her hand touch the hallway wall to keep her steady.

But then he breaks.

Grinning.  
  
“W-what!?”  
  
“Alright, young lady, how long was it?”  
  
“What!?” She huffs, “Coran I have no idea what—”  
  
“Don’t you play hide the fizzlequark with me, I know you broke your Vigilance!”  
  
“I did no such thing!” But her ears are burning in her hair and her hand wavers.  
  
“Oh, and you two just scripted out your own cutsey inside jokes on the way home over taggle berries and tea!?”  
  
_Cutsey._  
  
Allura wants to scream.  
  
“Thats—”  
  
Coran is laughing. Hacking, almost, he steps away to put his hands on his knees.

It’s almost infuriating.  
  
“Coran!?” She nearly stomps her foot, caught between utter bafflement, embarrassment, and rage. “What is wrong with you!”  
  
He waves his hand frantically.  
  
“The look on your face!”  
  
“How dare you!”  
  
“You were never a good liar, Princess.”  
  
“Alright fine! I broke it, I thought it was stupid and silly and—and— and don’t you dare get angry with me like it's a big deal because it isn’t."  
  
But Coran is still smiling.  
  
So confusion wins out.  
  
“Oh, Allura.”  
  
“W-what?” She blinks. “You aren’t mad?”  
  
“Mad? This is what it’s all about!”  
  
She’s officially lost.  
  
“Pointing fingers and then come solstice telling Vigilance stories of sneaking off into the moonlight, complaining about your silly daughter, harking your-son-in-law—” He sighs. “It’s what the father experience is all about!”  
  
Her shoulders fall.  
  
“I had to at least give your old man’s memory the pride at making sure I lived up to the tradition, and my own hopes to be an old pappy telling everyone how bad at it you were.”  
  
She’s not sure if she should be gaping at him, rolling her eyes, or tossing him over her head. So Allura stands there, staring blankly, shaking her head.  
  
“Is-was—this some sort of test? Is Vigilance a test?”  
  
“By all means, no!” Coran laughs. “You are, technically, _supposed_ to be separated for the full amount, but,” He shakes his head. “You at least get bragging rights for doing it right but not even your own father pulled that off.”  
  
“Wait, father?”  
  
“Who do you think boosted old Alfor onto your mother’s balcony on their first night of Vigilance?”  
  
“What!?”  
  
“He camped there the whole two movements! I had to sneak him meals and extra clothes and—”  
  
“Coran!” Her tone is low and sour.  
  
“But for you!” He hurries, hands raises, finally the defensive one himself. “What was it, three quintents?”  
  
“Four!”  
  
“Ah! Good for you Princess, I’m sure Alfor would be proud. I certainly am, a whole four quintents, truly admirable!”  
  
“Ugh!!” Allura grips her hands at the air in front of her. Coran cringes, shrinking away as she hurries past him.  
  
“It was a happy Vigilance though, Princess!?”  
  
“Don’t you ever say that word to me again, Coran!”


	16. Cyan Amaryllis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mistiq did [this gorgeous illustration of Lotor and Allura on Doranic and it kills me <3!! ](http://mistiqartsillustration.tumblr.com/post/178148454183)

They practice their speeches aboard his cruiser.

The Castle, as he very understandably pointed out, was a little too clear of a target once they eventually reached the eastern front. And while the rest of Voltron could form its own escort service, the Castle was simply much too valuable.  
  
Not to mention that this was a joint Galra-Coalition venture. Riding in on only Altean vehicles might not be appreciative.

“As much as it pains me to turn down another opportunity to reside in its quarters.”  
  
So the Royal Tour was launched with all five lions, Lotor’s personal cruiser, and a small Galra squadron tailing some distance behind at Kolivan and Coran’s lead. An official entourage for an official escapade around the universe. It was almost like her father used to do. So much so that Allura had too keep reminding herself that these were the changes they all wanted to see.  
  
“Change is good, yes, but we may want to bring up tradition as well,” Lotor leaned forward, tabbing down her tablet with relaxed fingers. “Perhaps a few paragraphs down.”  
  
“Is that for the Galra or the Coalition?”    
  
He smiled idly, “That’s for everyone. To ensure all people that their own culture will be once more restored, as shown in our Altean ceremony.”

She enjoyed the curl of his lips. The smugness of his pride leaking through that ever-present confidence.  
  
“So I see.”  
  
He looked up at her near sing-song words and his smirk dropped to catch her staring.  
  
“I, ah, yes—” He trailed, said confidence faltering for a moment. “Continue, please, princess.”  
  
His clawed fingers pressed the tablet back up to her sight.  
  
Allura began re-reciting her words.   

They alternate standing and sitting from the bridge of his main deck while space and stars drift pass them in waves of motion outside the viewports. And they actually manage to stay focused.  
  
“You mean to say, King Alfor himself did not last Vigilance?”  
  
“Not but one quintent!”

“Ah—”  
  
Well, until inevitably they get distracted.  
  
“I had thought the tradition about virtue.” Lotor trailed, his script lowering as his eyes narrow.  
  
“It is, well, it’s,” Her head fell to one side. “It’s supposed to be, but maybe not as seriously as Coran let on,”  
  
Lotor sighs.  
  
They shouldn’t go off on tangents, but more and more Allura’s starting to realize it’s a bit hopeless to try and stop. They both have a tendency to get excited about one topic or another. And with shared interests, it’s a bit hard to regulate. Even on Doranic that was the case.  
  
Allura finds he’s just much too… fun, to talk to.

“I suppose that finding out we were _too_ Vigilant is a better punishment than not attempting to be, and finding out an annulment was in order,” Lotor says it with a monotone that sounds like either way he’s displeased.  
  
Allura laughs into her fist. “I’m sorry to cause the st—”  
  
“No apologies.” He warns.  
  
“I _hope_ that it didn’t cause—”  
  
“No _semantical_ apologies.”  
  
He’s smirking at her, standing tall. Challenging.  
  
Allura meets his gaze with a wry look and a quirked brow.  
  
“I _enjoyed_ breaking the rules with you.”  
  
“Well,” He huffs, looking away quickly but not losing his grin. “Hm.”

He paces about the deck shortly, before returning to his seat beside her.  
  
“I will have to assign Coran a more covert position in the future. His acting abilities, for lying through his teeth in particular, are quite practical.” He slides the tablet away on the desk. Forgotten now. “And he owes us for the trouble.”

“Do you think your father lasted any time?”  
  
Lotor’s chin jerks slightly, eyes finding hers almost as an afterthought.  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
She gives him a pointed look. His shoulders fall.  
  
“Zarkon?” He clarifies. When she nods Lotor leans away, a little uncomfortable. “I don’t know what you mean.”  
  
He does. She can tell. But maybe it’s impolite to bring it up. But she had been thinking of the Galra warlord since Coran had told her about her father’s relationship.

“I mean if your father and mother likewise skirted the rules of Vigilance?”  
  
“I do not think—” His eyes are closed. “I…”  
  
She frowns. Her fingers curl into her palm as they sit on the desk. She had thought perhaps they had become close enough to discuss things like this. Instead, it seemed she’d put him on edge.  
  
“Why… are you so curious of them?” He asks finally, gaze back on her but brows drawn. Concerned. Confused maybe.  
  
She stretches away, a bit put on the spot.  
  
“I just, when Coran mentioned it, it got me thinking.” She shrugged. It wasn’t like it was the first time. She’d asked him about it on Doranic too. But this time… “I mean, unlike my parents, who married for political reasons due to lineage and heritage and… well, they were strangers! Remember? Or, well. _Oh._ Their foray against Vigilance makes them seem a bit dubious now in retrospect…” her eyes glanced at him, face flushing, before waving her hand, “W-well anyway, they weren’t motivated by love.”  
  
“Love,” he repeats.

Allura finds his hands quickly with hers. Patting his knuckles with nervous reassurance.  
  
“I just thought to be curious of it, is all, they were more similar to our situation than my parents were. One being Galra and one Altean, like us,”  
  
“Yes…” He’s looking at their hands.  
  
“And considering, by technicality, they are _my_ mother and father now too.”  
  
Lotor’s eyes snap back to her, mouth parting.  
  
But he says nothing.

She frowns.  
  
“That’s not presumptuous of me?”

“No,” he says, so quickly he looks a little surprised. His hands curl at her fingers. “Fury… you’re right, I simply…”  
  
She follows the tilt of his head as he exhales, looking a little calmer.  
  
“I simply haven’t… I have never spoken of them so casually with anyone. Or at all, if I’m being honest.” The smile he gives her is tiny. “And after so many centuries of silent oppression under how they are presently…”  
  
Allura frowns again at his odd choice of words.  
  
“How they _were_.” He reiterates. “Father is dead, of course. I... forget, on occasion.”  He looks a little ashamed at the confession, but Allura just nods. “But you make a good point and to answer it...”  
  
He turns away, breathing soft and blinking distantly. Allura recognizes the expression as one he gets when he thinks carefully. Strategically.  
  
“...by all accounts, they more likely would have celebrated a Dethok An. Not Vigilance.”

“Oh?” She asks, trying to avoid her reddening cheeks or the image of an Altean woman embraced with Zarkon in her mind’s eye. She had to be the one to bring it up.  
  
“Yes, my mother…Lost much of her appreciation for her own culture as she continued her stay on Daibazaal. I cannot see her partaking in traditions that would… waste her time. As it were.”

“Oh.” It can’t be helped. Her cheeks are burning.

“She was clinical, even in her journals. And her affection for my father was equally expressed. With notations about his prowess or his… more driven nature for ambition.”  
  
“ _Oh._ ” Allura sinks in her seat, fingers feeling a little sweaty in his grip. “Oh, well, we don’t have to—”  
  
“In fact, most of her affection could be categorized as tests. Experiments into how one might impress her.”  
  
He sounds a bit more biting now.  
  
“Do you… remember much of her?”  
  
“No.”

He falters after another beat of silence, a choked noise from his throat after he tries to continue. “She… What I remember I only dislike. And then she was gone.”  
  
The quiet around them is heavy. For all his height, Lotor looks a bit smaller. Head craned, shoulders dropped. She misses the smirk of confidence.  
  
She reaches a hand up to his shoulder, brushing her fingers past his armor to roll her thumb over the small gap in his flight suit where she feels his hot skin underneath. He near shivers under that touch, eyes finding hers quickly.  
  
“Lotor,” She swallows. She shouldn’t ask, really, but she was too curious. “What happened to her?”

He shouldn’t look nervous at the question, but he does.

“She died before I was ever born.”  
  
Allura leans away but doesn’t let go of him. Like trying to take in words she couldn’t quite read.  
  
She doesn’t want to be terribly rude by pointing out that _that’s simply not possible, b_ ut…

“You mean…?”  
  
“Whoever she once was, that died before I was born. And whatever’s left now, it’s not my mother.” His glare isn’t meant for her. She knows that. But it’s been a while since she’d seen his anger. It’s still chilling. Intimidating. His eyes and teeth look sharper when he angles them like this. She’s lost, but Allura isn’t about to press him on the issue when pushed it in the first place.  
  
“I see.” Is all she can manage. But just like that, all his tension is gone.

“Forgive me.”  
  
“Lotor no apo—” She rolls her eyes. But his hand grabs hers from his shoulders and he pulls it to his lips. She squeals “—ologies!!”  
  
“I’m declaring an exception as Emperor, as did the Princess some time ago.” his smirk is back.  
  
She’s hot from her toes to her fingertips. _Especially_ her fingertips. She pulls back the hand to cradle it as if it’s been burned.  
  
“Oh, so now you pull rank on me!”  
  
“It’s my ship, I’m afraid.”  
  
“We’re married. What’s yours is mine.” She points out, grinning wryly.  
  
Lotor’s brows perk. “Ah? Is that so? Well, _wife_ , with no consequences to the action I’m afraid there is no adhering to the arbitrary rule even if you happen to be correct.”  

He looks smug.  
  
Allura glares, standing in her chair.  
  
He flashes her his fangs.  
  
Her arm snaps fast past his face, fingers pinching to pull at his earlobe.  Lotor’s body freezes, flesh to stone, grin twitching into a grunt that rumbles from the bottom of his throat into his mouth. His teeth snap shut with a click.  
  
His eyes are unseeing.  
  
She’s burning. It’s hot. But dammit if she’s not going to go through with the challenge.  
  
“I-if you’re going to act like a miscreant I will treat you as my governess did me.”  
  
“Hn—unh—Hm—yes—” His claws are on his ear. Lilac to fuschia from the blood rushing to the yanked skin.  He’s breathing through his teeth. “Nnnoted.” The consonant drags.  
  
Allura turns her glare back to her tablet, snatching it and turning it over to him.  
  
“Now—let’s get back on track.”  
  
“Hn. Yes. Of course, princess.”  
  
“Good.”

 

* * *

 

“What did you do to him?”  
  
Allura’s eyes snap at Shiro, sweat immediately on the back of her neck.  
  
“W-what?”  
  
“I’ve never seen the guy so…” Shiro trailed, eyes straight ahead.  
  
“Smiley?” Pidge supplies.  
  
She averts her gaze from the both of them to the other side of the Galra installment where Lotor stands at the railing with two Balmeran men, pointing and smiling at the landscape around them.  
  
Something warm settles her nerves when she sees it.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“He looks like a kid in candy store,” Pidge says up to her. Shiro is nodding.  
  
“He’s never been to a Balmera before.” She explains tentatively. “Especially not one free from his father’s horrible methods for mining it. He’s excited.”

The two paladins consider her with almost doubtful looks.  
  
“Not for any suspicious reason. He’s just, he’s always wanted to be more of an explorer than a soldier or a diplomat. Similar to my own father. Not Zarkon.” Allura gazes back at the Prince, where his hand rests at his chin, listening intently to one of the Balmera as they gesture about the mountaintops. He looks rapt. Attentive. That distant-strategic-look making her smile fondly. “It’s a place he’s never been to before and he’s almost been everywhere, I mean, can you imagine? And to be received with excitement and not fear, it’s...”  
  
Perhaps later, after their announcements and dinner, she could traverse the creature with him. Alone.  
  
Allura heaves a sigh through her smile.  
  
It’s silent.  
  
She stiffens.

Pidge and Shiro are staring at her, eyes narrowed.  
  
“What!” She exclaims.  
  
“What did he do to _you_ ,” Pidge’s smile curls around her nose.  
  
“N-Nothing!”  
  
“Leave her alone, Pidge.” Shiro admonishes as the girl snickers into her fist. “Go help the boys check the perimeter, or, something.”  
  
“You mean Lance and Keith?” Pidge asks. She’s already stepping away from them though. “‘Cause Hunk is already M.I.A.”

Shiro glances around and sighs. “Great. I guess everyone’s a little distracted.”  
  
Allura clasps her hands behind her back a bit guiltily, watching Pidge leave.  
  
“So.” Shiro trails, glancing at the Prince again before back at her. “After our talk, seems like you two… line up… well.”  
  
Allura can’t help but feel a bit defensive.  
  
“We’re on the same page when it comes to the Alliance if that’s what you mean.” She says quickly, proud to not stutter even as her heartbeat picks up its pace.

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s nothing but expected. Obviously, my proposal, the ceremony, the marriage, all of it, has been to bring us to these moments. To spreading peace through the universe.”  
  
“Yep.” He nods.  
  
“Really, Shiro, I mean, especially after all the time he and I have spent together it was inevitable we would see the similarities our lives hold and therefore become more natural acquaintances. He is, after all, a Prince, and I, a Princess.” Hadn’t Hunk said something like that before?  
  
“I uh, never said you wouldn’t?”  
  
“We’ve simply become better allies. Better… friends.” She ends, not realizing how much breath she’d lost in the explanation. She blinks. Explanation of what?  
  
“That’s… good, Allura. Great.” Shiro smiles, looking amused. “You don’t have to feel bad about having feelings for the guy.”  
  
“What?” Allura breathes. Her eyes dart to where Lotor is as if he might hear them.  
  
“You have a crush on your husband.” Shiro shrugs, eyes bright. “The great thing is, he’s your husband. Head start,”

“C-crush—I’m not violent—” She glares. But there’s something fluttering in her stomach at the Earth word. Its so obviously not what it implies.  
  
“You’re flirting—”  
  
Okay. That word she understands.  
  
“I am not!!” She near yells. She might even have gained a few inches in height.  
  
All of Shiro shrinks, hands jumping up to defend himself. “Whoa—ookay, r-right ye-yeah! Not at all, copy that, Allura—”  
  
“Is everything alright?”  
  
Lotor’s voice is clearer than the click of a blaster clip.  
  
They turn to his concerned expression with shock. Frozen.  
  
“Yep! All clear!”  
  
“Yes, of course!”  
  
Shiro stands tall once more, coughing. Allura’s shifting brings her back below Lotor’s eye level. He stares at her every inch back down to size.  
  
She swallows.  
  
“Better get those perimeters checked,” Shiro mumbles, stepping backward two steps before turning to leave completely. Allura glares daggers into his back as he makes his escape.

Coward.

“Have I interrupted?”  
  
Allura turns back with a huge, too-big-smile. “Not at all!” She says, too loud, hands clasped to her cheek. “We were just… discussing dinner!”  
  
“Hm.” The Prince hums. “If that’s the case then might I cast my vote to host the meal inside the Galra installation?”

“What?”  
  
“Not that I do not appreciate the Elders’ extension to board within their caverns, but I, admittedly… consider myself... “ He closes his eyes. “Fractionally claustrophobic.”

Allura straightens.  
  
Lotor keeps his eyes closed, shoulders drawn. Like he’s bracing himself against the wind around him. Or maybe her laughter? Why would she laugh? Because he’s a large, statuesque Galra? Or a fearless warrior? Or a gallant Prince with more confidence in his smile than in anyone’s whole body?  
  
If anything it’s… almost cute. To hear him a bit anxious about some caves.

Cute.  
  
_You have a crush on your husband._  
  
Allura wonders how much energy it would take to shapeshift into a height small enough she’d disappear in the grains of sand beneath her feet. But Lotor idles uneasily and she realizes she hasn’t assured his worries yet.  
  
“Oh! Yes, that’s—That’s my vote as well. Not just for comfort but for preferences in… food.” She says, remembering the local soups she had encountered on her last few visits.  
  
“I can arrange to have the squadron prepare something while we make our address.” He nods. “I’m confident Dayak and Coran can handle as much.”  
  
“Your governess is here?”    
  
He smiles wistfully. “I have no say in where the woman comes and goes, I’m afraid.”  
  
Allura laughs. And then she catches his eyes and falters, remembering Shiro, and coughs through it.  
  
Lotor frowns.

“Then, shall we?” She smiles, raising her hand towards the ramparts of the surface base.

“Yes.”

* * *

 

She most certainly does _not_ crush him.

There seemed to be no one worse at reading a room than Shiro Takahashi. And hadn’t his argument before been that it had been Lotor who seemed to crush her? And now the other way around? Ridiculous.

“Allura, stop glaring at me,” Shiro whispered, voice crackling through his helmet into her earpiece.

“I am not!”

“Yeah, you totally are.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I can see it from here.”

“Yep.”

She ruffled at the barrage of paladin voices, turning her eyes away from where Shiro stood across the platform.

“Don’t worry Allura, I get nervous about public speaking too. But you're the Princess, they already love you!”

She smiled softly, searching for the yellow helmet through the crowd of Balmera in the far-reaching caves.

“Thank you, Hunk.”

“Besides you got Lotor and he’s like, amazing at this.”

Her eyes went back to center stage, where Lotor stood, hand at his chest.

Yes. He is.

“—with these reparations. I can not express the gratitude I have for all of you who seek to move forward, to find it in yourself to be better than my father has been to you. Forgiveness is not ex—”

“Yeah, no kidding,”  Lance says. “I mean I gotta hand it to the guy he sounds convincing.

“He’s not convincing anything, he’s telling the truth.” She whispers back.

“Well sure but I mean he’s just a good talker—”

“Would you guys be quiet so we can appreciate that?”

The snap seems to stiffen everyone.

“Sorry, Keith.”

“Jeez Keith.”

“Sorry.”

“Signing off.”

It was almost relieving to hear everyone go silent, the air around her filling with Lotor’s voice.

“It’s time to acknowledge the wrong done by the Empire. It’s time to begin again, working together despite and because of our differences.”

It’s a lulling backdrop against the blanket black of the Balmera’s cavernous inside, dotted with luminescent crystals. Stars in space. Or tiny lit houses in a distant landscape. There was some sunlight pouring in from the atmosphere above. An organic spotlight to the mining platform turned stage. With a full audience several tiers down and several galactic sectors wide, if the wandering drones were to be considered.

And they weren’t wrong. Lotor was good at this.  
  
He was practiced, precise. Threading a needle with a tongue instead of a stitch, her father used to say. Everything you would expect from a prince, but more too. She had noticed it in the practice sessions. Had noticed it when they met even, though back then she had considered it a warning sign instead of something to admire.  
  
There were a lot of warning signs turned to feats of attraction, weren’t there?

 _Attraction._  
  
Allura frowned, brows aching on her forehead with the worry she weighed on them.  
  
She wasn’t—hadn’t—  
  
Her fingertips burned where she’d pulled his ear.  
  
_You’re flirting._  
  
Her body burned when she remembered her nights on Doranic. With thoughts of that needle threading tongue in places words couldn’t be heard. With fingers, teeth, and kisses on hands or cheeks appearing elsewhere in her fantasies.

She could admit it. 

Allura found him attractive. And honestly, that wasn’t—who couldn’t— he was a Prince! With long, beautiful hair, bright eyes, and skin as smooth and soft as a persil-berry blossom.  
  
Well, that seemed a little over-romantic. Even in her head. But she could admit it. There was nothing wrong with recognizing a person’s beauty. Especially the beauty of someone who’d grown so close. A dear companion.  
  
Allura tried not to hear her mother in those words as they had once described her father.  
  
“Allura, hey,”  
  
No. Physical attraction, even one acted on in the privacy of her bedroom wasn’t necessarily an emotional change.  
  
“Allura—Allura!”  
  
Mother?  
  
Oh. No. Well. Yes, actually. One of them.  
  
“Shiro—”  
  
“You’re up, get going.”  
  
Her eyes snapped to the stage, where Lotor’s hand outstretched toward her. The was a crowd somewhere behind him, but it was hard to see past the brightness of his expression. Soft. Fond.  
  
She took his hand.

 

* * *

 

“Was the fire very hot?”  
  
“Yes, well, it was but we’re actually protected by oils in the wrappings.” Allura smiled motioning her fingers around her hands. “It’s only chemical.”  
  
They did end up hosting dinner in the surface base above the Balmera, much to Lotor’s subtle relief. He had been shaky after the speeches. At least she thinks he was. They had waved and saluted during the cheers and his hand in hers had been just a little too tight and a little too hot.  
  
There hadn’t been any objections. To anything, really. Especially after the address.  
  
To say it had been successful would be an understatement.

They actually had to arrange more tables from the miner's mess hall be dragged into the meeting space, so more Balmera and Galra could join the dinner. The only argument had been which honored guest would serve the newly married monarchs. Dayak had won out that conversation, putting out a few young Balmera (and a few Galra squadron too).

“It’s so romantic… so dreamlike.” Shay sighed into her hands, perched on the table. “You looked so in love.”  
  
“Ah! Ahn-eey-yes?” Allura struggled, staring at Shay and very pointedly raising the cup in her hands to cover the side of her face next to Lotor.  
  
“Yes, oh! The look in your eyes,” Shay exclaimed, nearly lurching across the table, beside her Hunk leans away, looking over at Allura and shaking his head with gritted teeth. “And after your words today, it is so obvious two people have found each other through war. Like stars, crossed between galaxies.”

Allura’s laugh is tiny and flutters through her chest. It sounds like a sick person trying to breathe. Her eyes slide warily to the side, but Lotor is facing the other direction, talking intimately with one of the oldest of the Balmera. Hopefully about language or linguistics, or...something.

“You must tell me of your Moonhoney.” Shay grins.  
  
Allura frowns. “Moon?”  
  
“Honeymoon, Shay, it’s a honeymoon.” Hunk corrects. Shay smiles at him, yellow eyes squeezing into happy half crescents.  
  
“Yes, this!”  
  
Allura wants to roll her eyes. Of course, the paladin told her. She should have guessed his weakness for the Balmera girl. But, what did that even mean anyway? Earth vocabulary was so particularly useless.

“Are they not filled with dancing and headsmacks?”  
  
“Headsmacks?” Hunk is the one who asks, though Allura finds herself equally aghast.

“Yes! You said honeymoons are when all that matters is showing love,” Shay’s hand gestured toward Allura and Lotor in a vague way that made Allura sink in her seat. The word 'love' had never been said so much in just a few dobashes. “We show love by meeting crest to crest!”  
  
“You headbutt each other?”

Everyone turns to Pidge, whose leaning in past Hunk now, staring at Shay. Behind her, Lance is shaking his head.  
  
“Can’t everyone just kiss? Kissing is the best thing ever and everyone wants to punch each other or set them on fire or anything that you know, hurts.”  
  
“Smacks don’t hurt!” Shay defends, her hands hitting the table. Her dishes clatter.

On her other side, Shiro raises his hands with a “Whoa!”  
  
Allura has to agree.  
  
“They’re a show of affection! I’ll show you!”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Shay—”  
  
“Ohmygosh—”  
  
Shay’s hands are a bit massive on Hunk’s head and Allura imagines her grip is every bit as overpowering as their size. But it’s the noise the Balmera’s head makes against the yellow paladins that’s the most shocking. It’s a light thunk. Like two empty ceramic pots hitting each other.  
  
“O-ow—, yeah that, that kinda hurts.” Hunk reels, eyes cringed closed and pulling away to rub his head. It’s deepening his brown skin to a fevered red.  
  
“Oh no, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry!” Shay hurries. Grasping at the boy’s hands to place her own gently on his skin. “I—we have crests—”  
  
“No, it’s okay, that was, that was really uh, sweet—”  
  
Pidge is laughing into Lance’s shoulder, who's laughing into his fist, eyes full of tears.  
  
“Guys.” Shiro glares. Allura matches him, shaking her head.  
  
“It’s normally a lot longer and not so hard.” Shay continues to explain, pulling Hunks hands away completely. “It is at least soft after, like so,”  
  
This time her forehead comes to rest at Hunk's, eyes closing, stilling and dropping their arms to the table. They watch Hunk blink nervously at the girl only centimeters in front of him until he too closes his eyes.  
  
And after a few beats of silence on this end of the table, Allura smiles, gently.  
  
“That _is_ very sweet, Shay.”  
  
The girl surfaces with a large, toothy grin, bangles wobbling from her fins.  
  
“Y-yeah... super sweet.” Hunk repeats to the ceiling, head a burning red and smile jagged.  
  
“Is that every time you see each other? Just—Wallop!” Pidge smacks her hands together. “And then you two stand there for a few minutes?”  
  
“Minutes?”  
  
“—the rest of Altea.”  
  
“I mean dobashes.”

Her ear is split between the two conversations, but eventually, Allura leans the other way, looking to the faces of the Elder council where she’d thought she’d heard the name of her homeworld.

“It is a blessing then, from fate itself.”  
  
“Yes.” Lotor agrees. Allura frowns, brows rising as she looks at up at him. His eyes look tight, claws out on the table. “It is a blessing but also a call to action. All of the Empire must find the right ways in order to pay homage to not just Altean tradition, but all traditions.”

She slides her fingers past dinner settings to gently touch his own. He twitches but doesn’t look at her.  
  
The woman laughs, her terrain-like skin wrinkling around her happy smile. “Not just traditions. People. It’s people.”  
  
“Yes.” Lotor’s eyes lower. Level.  
  
“It must be such a happy thing,” she says.  
  
Allura realizes the woman's looking at her now.  
  
“O-Oh?” She asks, not wanting to let on that she had been quite distracted by other things at the table than this seemingly more serious conversation.  
  
“I mourned for you when you first came to us princess, but now, you will see all of your people restored. The world will know Alteans again.”  
  
Lotor’s fingers curl into hers, claws divoting into her skin.  
  
“I’m sorry?” Allura’s lost.  
  
Another Elder nudges the woman, raising a hand to his side of the table and leaning in towards both monarchs, like sharing a secret.  
  
“It’s more than fate. They will be almost completely Altean. Not just half.”  
  
“Yes, how right you are. A treasure to everyone.”  
  
“I don’t—” Allura trails again. She tries to catch Lotor’s gaze, but he’s unreachable. Sitting straight, chin raised on a stiff jaw, eyes closing. Somewhere behind her Shiro’s voice is getting louder in his scolding.  
  
“Children are important to a lineage, but we do not plan to run a tyrannical monarchy based on bloodlines.”  Lotor’s voice is no less lofty, but it somehow rings hollow through her entire body.  
  
_Children_ .  
  
“My boy, we don’t mean about those things, we mean about their hair. Their eyes! People lost to us millennia ago.”  
  
“Yes.” He huffs, voice rough.

“Yes, when we saw the ceremony from our ports we were happy to see more Altean things.” The Man says, flicking a hand at Allura. “To know more about the ancestors who replenish our Balmera. Our home.”  
  
Oh.

Children. Between them.

Lotor and her.

Children.

Alteans.

_Alteans._

Something burns in her nose. In her eyes. The lights in the base seem a little too bright and she blinks against them.  
  
More than half.  
  
She turns, blearily peering up at the man next to her. Tall and warm, his visage is nothing but marble in his heavy restraint. Half. His mother—he’s Altean. She knew that, of course, it isn’t—she knew that but now. He’s— they, any _children_ —oh, they, would be—

She rips her eyes away, staring back at the group of paladins as they yell over each other's heads and point fingers.

Was it callous or ridiculous or selfish or silly that she simply—hadn’t—ever—considered the idea?  
  
Children.  
  
When she had been younger, maybe, once or twice, just as she had considered marriage. But again, those things would be decided for her, wouldn’t they? And then they wouldn’t be almost immediately after. When the only things that had mattered had been running, living, waiting—Voltron. At what point was she supposed to look around her and mourn that the potential husbands of her planet had died with the rest? She’d been sad about her family, the one she’d _had_ , not the one she might have eventually _have_.  
  
The excuse ends with her proposal though, doesn’t it? One of the most integral, inherent promises of marriage and she had not even realized it’s existence.  
  
An injustice to him, if not to her.

What had _he_ been thinking?  
  
Or had that been in the list of sacrifices he’d expressed to Lance? Buried opportunities beneath a royal duty, just as she had done but with the all the grace of a naive fool?    
  
“Allura, you okay?”  
  
“Smack! Smack! Smack!”  
  
“Oh yes! Smack, smack, smack—”  
  
And he was—who he was.  
  
_A man’s age again?_   His voice echoed in her brain. A sad laugh.  
  
But it was true. After all this time did he even regard the issue anymore? Or had he—had he already...  Had them? Children?  
  
“Allura?”  
  
“What?” She blinks up at Shiro, whose mouth is slack in his concern.  He’s fuzzy in her vision.  
  
There’s a banging thudding along the dining table.

She turns and sees the other side where her paladins and Shay beat their fists in front of their plates.  
  
“Smack! Smack! Smack!”  
  
“What?” She asks again.  
  
“They want you to headsmack Prince fancypants!” Lance says through his cheeky grin, over his own pounding fists.  
  
Pidge practically has stars in her eyes.  
  
“W-What?”  
  
Shiro exhales heavily beside her.  
  
In the distances, there's a few other Balmera from other tables, turning at the chant and standing up, as if to see what’s happening.  
  
“Allura, you don’t have to—”  
  
“Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!”  
  
“SMACK! SMACK!”  
  
“Is everything alright?” Lotor’s voice lifts above his conversation, body turning to her.

Her hands are still in his.  
  
She rips them away, feeling the corners of her gaze fill with water.  
  
Oh, stars.  
  
Her hands are nowhere as big as Shay’s, but Lotor’s cheeks are soft in her palms. Pliant. Marble made from cream. Her fingertips touch the delicate shell of his ear and her eyes catch him only for a second. Wide yellow and blue dilating into small irises of utter, horrified surprise.  
  
It’s somehow familiar.  
  
And then she brings all of his height down on her, smashing his head onto hers with a crack that she feels vibrate through her skull into her teeth.

Tears shake from her cheeks, dropping down to her lap between them.  
  
She stares at the small wet marks in her skirt as she keeps him there, her hands still on his head, drawing him close.  
  
He doesn’t struggle. Doesn’t say anything. At least she thinks he doesn’t, the room is an erupted cacophony of noise and she wouldn’t be able to hear him if he did. There’s shouting she recognizes in the trill language of the Balmera, and a lot, a lot, of saluted, growling Vrepit Sa declarations ricocheting from every corner.

Her head is on fire, and so are her hands. But her breathing is steady.  
  
“Allura.”  
  
Oh, she _could_ hear him. He sounds far away. Voice wavered.    
  
Her eyes lift, lashes fluttering against his. Gaze looking back in the soft shade of their own faces. Stars, this is—too close.  
  
His nose bumps hers.  
  
Allura’s hands fall away.  
  
They pull back.  
  
Everyone around them is standing.  
  
“Thatwasawesome!”  
  
“Ohmygosh—”  
  
“Do it again, do it again—”  
  
“How romantic, it was beautiful, I can’t believe we get to see—”  
  
Allura put on a much-too-big grin, hand raising to wave as she stands. Lotor follows uneasily after her, but she very much does _not_ look at him.  
  
“Vrepit Sa! Such power!”  
  
“Vrepit Sa Emperor Lotor!”  
  
“Blessings!” The Elders are repeating.  
  
Well, that was at least one way to change the topic.

 

* * *

 

The night doesn’t get better but thankfully it’s not her fault.

It’s Lotor’s.

He’s pacing again.  
  
Allura watches him reach one end of the cavern wall and then the other. It doesn’t take long. She curls her feet up on the bedding, frowning at his mindless back and forth, face hidden in the glow of his tablet.  
  
“Lotor…”  
  
“Hm.”  
  
“Are you alright…?”  
  
“Yes, of course.”  
  
He’s not. She wants to roll her eyes or give him a meaningful look of doubt, but can’t bring herself to be too hard on him even if it was his own act of _accepting_ the Elders invitation to stay _within_ the Balmera that brought them to this point.  
  
Maybe it’s a little bit her fault too.  
  
The end of dinner had been a whirlwind of agreements, gratitude, handshaking, and happy enthusiasm that was hard to keep up with when blood rushed to your forehead. If she had felt dizzy, Lotor surely had as well.  
  
Especially when he had answered the Elders gift of hosting their sleep with a strange, half-hearted, “Hm, yes, thank you.”  
  
And then, by etiquette, it would have been too rude to refuse. Even when they found the quarters suited for—as Shay had put it—obvious love in the face of war.  
  
So Allura sat, curled on blankets and linens of the _only_ bedding in a dark, cool-aired chamber alit with twinkling crystals. Warm from close quarters and Balmera energy.

It was beautiful.

And cramped.  
  
And her embarrassment and utter blasphemous reaction to the revelation of a _shared night_ hadn’t been heeded by anyone.

“I thought you cared about my chastity!” Allura had whisper-yelled at Coran.  
  
“During Vigilance!” Coran had whisper-yelled back, hands lifting to emphasize his shrug. “Now it’s all headsmacks and nozzle fits, apparently.”  
  
“Coran!”  
  
“You’re married! There _isn’t_ anymore chastity—” He shook his head. “At least there isn’t to anyone else. They think it was a natural marriage. That was the plan.”  
  
So maybe it was a tiny, little bit, her fault. So maybe she felt a tiny, little bit, guilty.  
  
“Lotor.”  
  
She stands now, crossing the few steps it took to put herself in his path. He stops, glancing at her and back at his tablet.  
  
“I only mean to familiarize myself with the differences we made for the eastern front, please, Allura, if you need the rest, I won’t keep you, I—” His eyes slide to the side. To the bed. “I do not often find myself resting at this hour, even if I desired too.”

It’s a side-step. One that makes her think of him, fast asleep, in the pilot’s chair of their shuttle back from Doranic.

Doranic, whose ceilings were wide open rafters, and viewports larger than the walls. With rolling hills stretching as far as you could see and a treeline that didn’t obscure the horizon. Quite a contrast to the curving enclosed roundabout they were in now.

And while his excuse sounded more or less convincing, there was an obvious fidget in him. A quirk in his shoulders, slimmed down as they were from shucking off his armor for a sleeping tunic. Or the clicking of his claws as they rolled over each other, nervous or agitated.

“Are you quite sure it isn’t your… _fractional_ phobia?”  
  
“Ah,” His teeth grit, eyes flickering away again. “I seem to have revealed myself too soon.”  
  
“I’m glad you told me.” And she was. It was almost surprising he had confessed the fear, however innocuous he made it seem. “It was honest.”  
  
“Yes, of course, apologies.” He nods.  
  
She moves fast. The hem of her nightgown lifts on her ankles as she stands on tiptoes, hands reaching high to snatch his earlobe, pinching hard.  
  
Lotor's breath hitches, eyes widening, hand grasping hers to keep her there. It catches her slightly off balance, and she has to grasp his shoulder. They stand, arm in arm, looking up and looking down, alone in their small makeshift bedroom. But Allura is laughing despite herself.  
  
“You’re proving a more difficult enforcer than Dayak herself.” He chuckles. And she’s happy to hear his mirth again.  
  
“If you weren’t so useless at following the rule to begin with,”  
  
“Useless!”  
  
“I might have to revert to more desperate measures.” Allura gives him a wry smile, feeling heat crawling up her skin to her neck but ignoring it.  
  
His laughter drops, hands squeezing hers between them, a breath pouring from his parted teeth.  
  
“Oh?” He huffs.  “If it has anything to do with an impact of the skull to another—”  
  
“Oh, stars!” She exclaims, pulling from him completely to run her hands through her hair. “I’m sorry about that but I couldn’t exactly bring myself to do anything else but that—Shay had brought up the traditions of the wedding and it was a cultural exchange—” She paces for a tick before all but falling back down to the bedding in a soft thump. She looks back at him, shaking her head. “She was so excited about it, you know how it’s been, how everyone seems to be about the entire fiction of it all,” She flushes, holding her breath to calm it before letting it out again. “The conversation got away from me.”  
  
But Lotor is only smiling, head tilted in an expression that reminds her of his look on the stage earlier.  
  
He comes to her side, lowering his entire height to sit beside her. Eased. Relaxed.  
  
Allura tries not to smile.

It worked.  
  
His hand reaches out to gently pull at her ear. She can hear the gentle scrape of his nails, can smell the thickness of his skin, can feel the heat as his knuckles drag from her jaw as they leave.  
  
“No apologies.” His voice is low again. Rough. Far from his jittery worry. “I thought it was genius, if surprising. As you always seem to be.”  
  
Allura rolls her eyes. Lotor catches it, laughing, looking down, looking back.  
  
Then lean away and to each other once more.  
  
“I mean what I say, Princess, you have a penchant for acting on the right decorum in ways that simply escape me.” His smile goes weak. “There were a few run-away conversations by my own fault that could have used your expertise.”  
  
Allura falls back on her hands and stares pointedly at her lap, trying not to hint that she knew exactly which conversation he was referring too.  
  
“Namely the one that got us here.” He noted, raising his chin and looking about the room. His lips pressed thin. His hands twitched.   
  
“Will you watch something with me?”   
  
“Hm?” He turns his attention back to her. 

Allura shifts on her hands, stretching and smoothing herself over the linens to the top of the bed, resting her back against the cool stone-like texture of the cavern.  
  
She pats the empty spot next to her.

Lotor stares.  
  
Allura’s not sure she’d ever seen him this speechless this often. The thought makes her grin, dipping her eyes low in his direction. Cheeks hot.

Stars, she was _being—_ -  
  
“Of course.”

His hands hit the bedding, claws making strained wrinkles that trailed upward to her.  
  
Had she forgotten just how tall, how large, he was? As Galra? Or was it that they weren't often this close? Or was it just the sight of him, knees up, crouching over her, that made her realize it with every faster-paced beat of her heart.

If the cavern was cool before, it was hot now.

He settled next to her, shoulder grazing hers as he stretched his legs out next to her folded ones. She snatched her wristlet from it’s forgotten place, preoccupying herself with configuring it while her breathing tried to settle back down.

 _This was normal. This was normal. This was normal._ _  
_  
They were married. This was _supposed_ to be normal.  
  
If Lotor had any thought about Allura turning on the broadcast of their wedding on her interface, he said nothing. They simply watched silently, allowing the long broadcast to fill the dark night between them.

It was like they were on Doranic again.  
  
He settled, nervous inch by nervous inch until they were somewhere where they had been before, her head on his shoulder. Her hand in his. Warm. Familiar.  
  
“Allura.” He hushed. She could practically feel his breath through her hair. She shivered. “Thank you.”  
  
“Tsk.”  
  
Her hand left his automatically, raising across his chest even as she kept her eyes on the holoscreen where he stood in Altea, white hair waving in the wind. She meant to pinch his ear but caught his jaw instead.  
  
“No gratitude either princess, I know.” He caught her hand and pressed her skin against his cheek. “But I must, you are too... “  
  
“Don’t call me a genius again, Lotor.” She chuckled, shifting to blink blearily up at him. The screen had wearied her eyesight, and his skin was dusky under the sparse star-like crystals.  
  
“Compassionate then.” He smiled down at her.  
  
Allura stared at the back of her hand pressed on his cheek. She moved her knuckles across his skin where she knew his markings hid. His eyes went lazy-lidded. Something deep rolled through his chest. She felt it in her spine.  
  
“It’s easier with you here, like this.”

The words are quiet. Loud enough only for the space between them. Allura basks in the hot, steady, heat of them, of the sight of them from his plush lips and peeling teeth. Even as she catches his eyes flit nervously around them.

“I know it is not really depths below anything. And I shame my previous excitement for the ability to see this place for what it’s truly is.”  He leans heavily on the wall, she practically sinks with him.

The broadcast is long forgotten.  
  
“You’re still here.” She reminds, huffing a laugh. She raises her empty hand to the wall and traces her fingers against it before pressing it palm-flush.

She feels the energy first before she sees it. Cyan and incandescent. It ripples from her, glowing softly.  
  
“Incredible.”  
  
“It’s about communication. About feeling.” She explains, looking up at him.  
  
“I envy the ability.” His expression looks pained.   
  
She slips from his cheek, grasping his hand to pull his palm up to hers.  
  
“You’re Altean too, Lotor.”  
  
“I’m not—”  
  
“Just.” She hushes, lowering her voice. “Wait.”  
  
It only takes a moment, his fingers brushing hers, but then there it is. Cyan staining his skin into a blooming amaryllis.  
  
“And now you just… think to me.”  
  
“Ah—”  
  
She feels him move closer, sheets shifting beneath them as they press their hands against the stone. Eyes closed, Allura feels his hot breath on her cheek but pushes the sensation away.  
  
_If you listen, you’ll hear me._  
  
“Yes.” Lotor’s voice is shaky again.    
  
She smiles at his response. Resisting the urge to peek at his reaction.  
  
“Now you.” She urges, excitement in her skin.  
  
“I did not think myself capable.”  
  
“You’re the most capable man I know.” It’s automatic. Instinctual. True. It doesn’t help that he’s also the most stunning man she knows too.  
_  
_ _Capable. Stunning. More to add to the list of firsts._ _  
_  
“First what?” She asks.  
  
He stiffens beside her enough that she opens her eyes to look at him.  
  
His gaze is flickering all over her face.  
  
“A more reliable form of communication than I thought.”  
  
“Yes, now tell me something.” She urges.  
  
She watches his neck bob in his swallow. Was she not doing a good job of distracting him?  
  
He closes his eyes, lips pressed shut. She waits, until there it is. A warm vibration. An echo.  
  
_Thank you, Allura._ _  
_ _  
_ _“_ That counts!” she laughs, a loud burst of noise between them.  
  
“The rule, princess, is to speak it.” He grins, leaning down past their pressed hands to tease her.  
  
“Then shall I apologize a few hundred times to fill my unsatisfied quota?” She threatened.  
  
Lotor snatches his hand away momentarily, jesting.

Allura laughs again, sinking down onto the bedding completely, hand still reaching above her head to keep the connection.

He urges her about his gratitude anyway, silently. She reassures him.

He admits his fear again. She reassures that too.  
  
He tells her the dark and small frightens him.

 _I have lived long enough to know isolation is the closest I will ever be to death._ _  
_ _  
_ _You aren’t going anywhere yet and neither am I._ _  
_ _  
_ He lies beside her.

Their arms reach past their heads, fingers brushing each other as they touch the crystals.

He asks if she fears anything at all. She tells him of the cold. Of the cryostasis that froze her from death but sacrificed her family. He draws the linens up around her, rubs his hands on her arm.

He admits his lack of sleep since his father’s defeat, so afraid to lose the chance he sought so long to have.  
  
She tells him she doesn’t want the paladins to leave her.

He mentions how he'd given up such relationships after outliving most of them. Or had, until his generals. But they had gone anyway. 

She tells him how he’d become her closest friend.  
  
He agrees.

_And more._

His eyes flicker past their tired blink.  
  
“Hm?”

He’s falling asleep.  
_  
_ _And more_. She repeats.  
_  
Shiro was right._

“What… about?” He asks, softly. Slowly.  
  
She feels her heart press at her chest.  
  
_About you. About me. I do crush you._  
  
There’s silence from him. His eyes are closed. Then his breath chuckles.  
  
“You certain..ly don’t… pull your punches...wife.”  
  
It’s him who falls asleep first this time.  
  
Allura pulls his hands away from the stone after a while, draping it gently across the sheets.

She curls over him, staring down at lilac and lush, with a hushed name she’d been unable to bear, unfought and wrought up until now.  
  
What was the rest? Taken to sleep in grips, white locks?  
  
Allura traces her fingers over his cheek, drawing away strands of hair behind his ears.  
_  
Smiles sweet._

“Goodnight, lord husband.”  
  
She kisses his forehead. Slow and gentle. And then his cheek.  
  
And then his lips.


	17. Concord Hibiscus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to [@garbage_dono](https://archiveofourown.org/users/garbage_dono/pseuds/garbage_dono) for the vocabulary of _Takkel Masi!_ If you haven't read Garbage's stuff please do it's amazing. The term is from [Diplomatic Immunity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15686514/chapters/36447453)
> 
> And shoutout to Mistiq [who drew the kiss from last chapter!](http://mistiqartsillustration.tumblr.com/post/178515004974) <3333 
> 
> Kellerkins [wrote a little L&L based Hunk interaction too!](http://kellerkins.tumblr.com/post/176799059517)

Not unexpectedly, the eastern front hates them.

That’s maybe a bit exaggerated, not hate, exactly, but the reaction has a palpable difference.

The Balmera leaves them on an unfair high, fresh from warm goodbyes, gifts, and an honest to goodness _signed_ treaty.  And it’s almost as if every inhabitant from the planet-sized creature surfaces to wave off their squadron. A makeshift farewell parade that Lotor’s Galra soldiers seem to appreciate.  
  
It doesn’t alleviate Hunk though.  
  
“I’ll be back… soon, maybe, I-I dunno.”  
  
Shay says nothing, staring down at the yellow paladin with those creased, unhappy crescent eyes.  
  
“When will soon be?”  
  
Allura frowns, taking another small step backward from the pair. She leans her head away to catch Lance’s gaze.  
  
“We should let them have some personal ti—”  
  
“Uhuh, yep, totally,” Lance is already nodding.  
  
They hurry away, secluding themselves under Blue and the other Lions. Pidge gives them a wave as she loads up into Green and somewhere there’s a crackle of a comm where Coran talks to Shiro about their coordinates.  
  
“Hey, do you know if the next place is like… a military barracks, or maybe like an actual hotel, or something like a rental, or—”  
  
“Hotel?”  
  
“Yeah, you know, like, when you travel for vacation or something and have to stay in a fancy place with a ton of tiny shampoos and conditioners?”  
  
“Ah… vacation…” Allura trails, shaking her head. There is more than one vocabulary word in the explanation she doesn’t understand. Lance frowns.  
  
“I just mean, do you know what the sleeping arrangements are?” He asks and then a hand scratches his neck as his expression goes screwy. “Keith and I had to bunk together last night and I don’t know who's in charge of assigning rooms, but come on, I mean, who decided that! It was terrible! He stays up all night and his music sucks! Plus when I invited him to play Gin Rummy or Slapjack with me he didn’t even know what the rules were for either of them!”  
  
“Rules?” She repeats idly, eyes blinking fast, trying to keep their sight on Lance’s face.  
  
“So we ended up playing Go Fish. How boring can you be? Like not even twenty-one or poker? Forget strip poker—not that I would want that! Uh— I just mean, something interesting.”  
  
Lotor’s talking with Kolivan.  
  
Both of the Galra men are looking at Lotor’s bracer interface, scrolling down a screen and talking intently.

“Look, I’m not saying that I want my own room, or I need anything special. I just need to bunk with Pidge! Or Hunk! Or heck, Coran, at this point I’m not being picky!”  
  
Lotor looks well rested.  
  
There’s a hidden smile in the trained demeanor he has with his closest advisor, a relaxed ease in the sharp corners of his eyes. She can’t hear them from this far away but she can see it all.

Allura slides her tongue on the inside of her lips.

“That’s easy enough, right Allura? If they have separate rooms I mean, if not then I guess we’ll just be on patrol, that’s cool too, but not a patrol with Keith.”  
  
Lotor gestures widely, and Kolivan nods, and he continues talking, turning and catching her gaze. Catches her staring at him. He blinks, stopping.  
  
“Allura?”  
  
Lotor smiles, chin lifting, eyes softening. He raises a hand beside him, waving gently across the platform.  
  
She has to bite her smile into place with her teeth, stiffening, heating up in seconds.  
  
She raises a hand back, fingers curling in a small wave.  
  
“Who are you—”  
  
Lotor looks back at Kolivan, and they scroll through the screen again, but his smile is still there.  
  
“Ohhhhhh-Oooooohkaaayyyyy, I get it.”

She can still feel how soft he’d been. Like kissing the edge of a flower petal. But hot, warm, with his soft, sleepy exhale seeping into her mouth and smelling like messer-honey and sweet camo spice.  
  
“Should I leave you alone to swoon? Is this your swooning time, Allura? Swooning hour?”  
  
“W-What?”  
  
Lance is looking at her with uneven brows and a twisted, toothy smirk.  
  
Oh, stars, she hadn’t heard anything he’d said.  
  
“Come again?”  
  
Lance just shakes his head.  
  
“I thought for a long time that you were, you know, all princessy! Girls like you don’t seem the type to drool but I guess I gotta be wrong sometimes!”  
  
“I am _not_ drooling!” She drags the back of her hand over her chin anyway, looking around quickly.  
  
“It’s kinda humbling actually.” Lance sighs, shoulders dropping. He stares up at the sky above them. “I guess even all fancy and high and mighty, you really are just one of us. Human.”  
  
“I’m _Altean._ ” She glared, feeling heat in her cheeks and a burning in her lips.  
  
“No I mean, you know, like ‘no worries, you’re only human,’” He hurried, shrugging.

“I’m _not_ !”  
  
“Allura work with me here.”  
  
“Excuse me,” Both of them jump at Lotor’s voice, glancing at each other nervously. “But it seems we are the last to ready for launch.”  
  
“Uuuuhhhhhhhh—” Lance does a quick turn around, realizing that the rest of the team had already boarded their lions. “Right, yeah, okay—I’m following you guys out!” He steps backward, but not before throwing a pointed finger and thumb at her. “Allura, tell Shiro to assign my bunk with Pidge, okay? _Not Keith!_ ”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Thanks!!”  
  
They watch him hurry up Blue’s ramp.

Lotor’s hand slides into her palm.  
  
Allura breathes a shaky exhale, glancing slowly up to his face. His smile is so much more beautiful this close.  
  
“Might I share something with you on the shuttle?”

She breathes in, eyes widening to take in his entire appearance.  
  
And for a split second she thinks, he knows, he knows, he knows. Knows she’s a thief, a lech, a sneak, stealing kisses when he wouldn’t give them. Because she had woken to an empty cavern, and while her body had been warm her heart had been cold. And maybe it only seemed like he didn’t remember, like he had been asleep when they had met with the Elders and he still seemed unaware, unknowing, that she had done it—had told him she cared for him, wanted him, kissed him, oh stars—  
  
But it’s not that.

Because after they launch and set coordinates for the eastern sector he simply pulls up the screen he and Kolivan had been conferring over and slides it over the terminal to her.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“They are messages from my Empire.”  He stands, leaving his pilot chair to come down to hers, kneeling beside her and tabbing the screen for her. Even like this, he’s still a little taller than she sits.

But he definitely doesn't remember.

Her shoulders sink.  
  
“I see.”

 _"Our_ Empire, forgive me.” He chuckles, mistaking her forlorn expression for something he’d said.

Allura reaches up and yanks his earlobe.  
  
Lotor’s lip rolls into his teeth, cringing through a wide grin that doesn’t falter.  
  
“What sort of messages?”  
  
“Messages for you, princess.”  
  
She looks away from the flushed skin of his cheek and ear to the screen.  
  
There seems to be an endless list of recorded missives, full of Galra names and timestamps ranging from just this morning to quintents ago. Movements even.  
  
“I don’t understand.”  
  
“Allow me.”  His clawed finger selected a missive, and the interface flashed into Galra words and Galra letters.  
  
“Are you sure these are for me?”  
  
“ _‘To the Empress Allura, the blue gown from the Balmera presentation was my favorite yet. Will you tell me what color you will dorn next quintent so that I might wear the same?’_ ” Lotor recites, she can hear his smile as he does.    
  
“Dresses!” She exclaims, a high pitched noise of mirth escaping from her as she says it. “They want to know about dresses?” 

“This is from Delmuk, a stationed finance regulator on homeworld two.” He says, pointing at the signature at the bottom.

“That can’t be what it says.”  
  
“It is.”  
  
He flashes the message away only to pick another.  
  
“ _‘Dearest Empress, I seek to request a token to wear upon my armor while I am posted in Hakkon, so that all might know of my support of you.’_ ” Lotor sighs, but it’s a happy one. He lowers his head into his hand and hums at the screen.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I never expected them to take to you so well, but,” He glances at her, flashing a fang that looks more fond and cheeky then it ever has intimidating. “That was foolish of me. How can they not?”  
  
Allura burns right there in her seat. Melts. She feels heat on her neck and deep in her hips.  
  
Her lips are tingling.  
  
“He goes on to explain that the token could be anything but he would prefer something Altean. Ha, never thought I’d see the day a Galra would prefer something other than Galra.” Lotor shakes his head.  
  
“These are all since the wedding?”  
  
“Yes. It seems Kolivan has been helping collect them with the security factions on the flagship, who are a little overwhelmed. My father never received messages like these when he was Emperor. He never received messages at all, actually.”  
  
“Should I answer them?”  
  
Lotor’s eyes go impossibly softer. He had been nothing but a glossy expression of doting calm since last night.  
  
“That is up to you, Allura, but I am sure they would be overjoyed to get any sort of response.”  
  
“I suppose we have the time before we land. And our speeches are well rehearsed, no?” She leans forward, sliding her hand over his. “Will you help me translate?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Go back to the one asking about what color I’m wearing next,”  
  
“As my wife commands.”

They spend the rest of the trip that way, reading, and writing, and Allura dictating. The tone and message of each one continue to surprise her. She never would have thought that the Galra would send her such kind messages, or take such interest in her. But maybe that was a flaw from her perspective, rather than a surprise of their countenance.  
  
They answer questions about her birthday, her hair, her opinions on flowers and swords. They advise a young Galra woman on how to propose the Altean way; putting a spriggan stone on their lover's pillow. Or perhaps a pretty moonstone, since the Altean mineral is long lost to time. They give thanks to those only wishing their praise on them, those that only wanted to let their Emperor and Empress know they are giving ‘Yeepar,’  
  
“Cheer.” Lotor explains.  
  
“And what’s this list of words?”  
  
Allura tabs down the message screen where the letters bottoms out into a scroll of Galra runes. She recognizes a few of them.    
  
“Faltook? Castor? Nulla? Yorak?”  
  
“Ah… they…” Lotor frowns, “They cheer for our succession.”  
  
Allura blinks at him. She watches his skin bloom a deeper color along the bridge of his nose.  
  
“They hope to help us name a future child.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“These are names from their family line.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“For Takkel Masi.” Lotor’s eyes are on the message. “Rather, Prince or Princess. Lineage, it means. Children of royalty.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
It’s quiet.

And they should talk about it. They _should_ . It’s the right time, and they’re alone, and it’s important, she knows it is. And he must know she heard the conversation from dinner the night before, and they should address it, she had thoughts what to say, but—but—  
  
“Is there another message?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
It’s a cowardly move, but one she relaxes into, wanting to enjoy the lighter topics of Altean hair beads and jewelry for Galra fur and ears.

So it almost makes sense that after so much success, excitement, and hope, that the eastern front puts them in their place.  
  
“This is a tough crowd!” Coran notes, standing beside her off the platform where they listen quietly to Lotor’s speech and wait for her queue.

Tough is one way to put it.  
  
Silent is another.

And not the humble silence the Balmera had given them. This one is heavy. Weighted. Like someone waiting for the right time to yell. Or attack.  
  
She stares at Lotor’s back, trying to focus on it instead of the unimpressed expressions of the Galra in the dark. The warehouse-like facility doesn’t do much to help the ominous feel of everything either.

And he’s alone up there.  
  
She eyes the crowd again, remembering what he’d said.    
_  
_ _‘Father never received any messages at all, actually,’_ _  
_ _  
_ She thinks of Zarkon up there, alone and dictating rhetoric under darkness.  
  
Alone.

“You’re up!’

There is no cheer, no yeepar, when Lotor finishes, nor when he presents her. And there’s none for her either as she meets him.  
  
But when his hand graces hers, his small smile wary and worrying, she doesn’t let go.  
  
“Allura?” He whispers, eyes surprised  
  
“Stay at my side.”  
  
She pulls him back to the center of the platform, where they stand hand in hand, together.  
  
When they did finish there had been a few quiet claps. Even less salutes. But the bright side is that they _aren’t_ attacked.

Not yet.  


* * *

 

After a short and cold goodbye from their first stop, they head to the capital of the sector, Nalteth, so they don't outstay their welcome. They had plenty of time to do that tonight, at dinner, before the final speech tomorrow.  
  
“Lotor.” The Galra woman bows, her dark blue hair slides off her shoulders and when she stands straight her eyes land on Allura.

She says nothing.    
  
Not a good sign. Neither was the lack of title for him.  
  
“Your quarters have been prepared. You may retire to them before the feast begins.” She says, waving her hands. Sentries on either side of her stand down to escort them into the oppressive looking fortress.  
  
“Thank y—”

“Two rooms.” She cuts Allura off.

She feels Lotor stiffen beside her.  
  
Everyone stops.  
  
“As requested.” There’s an unmistakable lift in the woman’s tone. A curl at her lips. Amusement.

Really, just, not great signs at all.  
  
The reception has the entire team on edge, but no one as much as Allura.  
  
“Her name is Djura, she’s the Overseer of the sector. This whole place is where the Empire’s sentry forces are manufactured—”  
  
“She has a point!”

Shiro closes his mouth, lips twisting. Coran’s expression falls. They watch her pace back and forth in her designated, separate, very Galra, quarters.  
  
“They all seem quite suspicious of us. Or at least judgemental.”

“We all expected as much.” Shiro shrugged, shaking his head. “Especially with Sendak’s Lieutenant here.”

Allura pauses, hands falling to her sides. She had known they’d been invited. Lotor had expressed his desire to appear cordial. It was also an opportunity to have a civil dispute they might win. Might use the interaction to change some minds.  
  
She just hadn’t known they’d accepted.  
  
“They’re here?”  
  
“They arrived shortly after us.” Coran splays his hands. “The Prince and his governess are arranging for their seats at dinner tonight.”  
  
Allura huffs, sitting down in an exhausted fashion on the edge of the bed. It’s stiff.  
  
“We’re already bulking security. I had Pidge send out a few drones around the entire facility and even a few in the atmosphere. Just in case.” 

“At this point, I’d welcome a fight over semantics.”  
  
“Semantics?”  
  
Allura looked at Shiro with pouted lips. “You heard her, didn’t you? She’s not convinced.”  
  
“None of them are I’m afraid.” Coran shrugged.  
  
Allura sat up straighter. “What do you mean? What are you saying?”  
  
Coran looked a bit put on the spot, but just shook his head. “J-just something Dayak and I overheard when we were leaving the last tour spot—”  
  
“You and Dayak?” Allura’s brow rose.  
  
“Is that where you were?” Shiro asked, crossing his arms.  
  
“I was—we—were—of course that’s where I was— we’re stationed on the same ship aren’t we!?” It’s surprising to see Coran suddenly turn flustered, not to mention confusing. They both watch the flightmaster wave his arms, running off his mouth. “It’s not as if it would be strange to see us both together, she’s technically a General as well as an archivist, you know, and I’m more than just a flight master besides she’s been very helpful in arranging these dinners and presentation platforms, it’s not easy for old Coran doing it all himself when everyone else gets—”  
  
“Coran!”

He shrinks up, shoulders pressed together.

She shakes her head. “What did you hear?”  
  
“They know it’s all arranged! Or that maybe you’ve tricked the Prince into your evil bidding.” Coran curls his fingers at his head like horns.

Allura looks away, trying not to think of her burning lips even as they send shivers into her spine.  
  
Evil bidding indeed.  
  
“And according to Dayak the Galra don’t take well to _acting_ , as it were. They don’t like it when someone’s _pretending_ to be passionate. They just like passion!” Coran nodded, eyes closed as if relaying a lesson. “Like what you did back there with standing together. That was genius!”

“He’s right. You could tell the difference even from where I was standing.” Shiro nodded “Good move.”  
  
“You should do it again for the speech tomorrow!”  
  
Allura nods, shifting her feet beneath her.

She had the idea on a whim and didn’t regret it. But it had been just as much for her own comfort and Lotor’s, as it had the Galra people.  
  
“What about dinner?” She questioned lightly.  
  
It was the more pressing issue.

“Well, if the problem is the rumors we seem to be causing, perhaps we should have the Overseer arrange you back into a shared room with the Prince.”  
  
“No!”  
  
Shiro and Coran almost jump at her response.  
  
Allura feels a hot sweat on her neck.

“I-I mean, n-no—” She says hesitantly, hands clenching the bed at her side “We-he-he’s tired. We need some time apart and—we had to share last night—”  
  
His face had been lilac cream, lost in silver and white strands of silk. His breath in hers, knees on thighs, hands on hands, entangled over the length of him, warm, lips on lips—  
  
“I... don’t want to make him do that again.”

Shiro and Coran are quiet.  
  
No, there are more diplomatic ways to influence people without subjecting him to her own personal machinations, aren’t there? Why just vargas ago they were happily answering questions about—  
  
Dresses.

Allura shoots to her feet.  
  
“Coran! Go and fetch Dayak!”  
  
“R-Righ-t-n-now?”

Allura doesn’t have time to understand why Coran’s face is as red as his hair.  
  
“Go!”  
  
“Yes, Princess!”

They watch him scramble from the quarters with all the grace of an Arusian sacrifice.

“Guess I’ll… get security ready for dinner.” Shiro says, looking a little lost. But he turns to Allura with a reassuring, if concerned, smile. “Everything okay?”  
  
It’s not, and oh, she wants to tell him everything. Everything he’d been right about and why she’d made everything so much more complicated because of it.  
  
But Allura just shakes her head.  
  
“I’m fine.”  


* * *

 

“I’m fine,” she repeats, to herself, outside the dining hall.  
  
She’s stiffer than she likes, but that’s probably the dress.

It’s tight. At her elbows, hips, breast, and collar. Not at all what she’s used too. Altean fabrics were modest and tailored, but the material breathed.

Galra satins seemed obviously made for supporting armor.

A point Dayak had made very clear to her.  
  
“You should wear the shoulder pads and the chest plate,”  
  
“I want to show the Galra I’m willing to compromise, not show the Coalition I’m abandoning them completely.”  
  
“Then perish in the name of the alliance, I suppose.” The woman sniffed.

To be fair, the dress was beautiful. If dark. A sleek magenta lined in concord purple. Like the transition inside a hibiscus. Maybe a bit oppressive. Allura reasoned with herself that Magenta was only another shade of pink. She didn’t have time to regret the idea anyway. She was already late.

So she pushed open the hallway doors and made her way inside.

It was obvious Nalteth was a sentry assembly facility. On account of all the sentries. They lined the walls along the table. One long continuous metal slab of a thing, lit by the low lighting Allura recognized from the capitol flagship.  
  
As she neared the center, she spotted Lotor first, but it was Coran who stood from his seat.  
  
“Prin—Empress!”  
  
The entire table turned to her.

Lotor was the only other to stand. His chair slid backward in a loud screech.  
  
“Allura.”  
  
His surprise was so obvious she had to look away.  
  
“Good evening.” She said to Djura and the other Galra she didn’t recognize.  
  
Kolivan pulled her chair out for her, as Lotor stood there in frozen silence, only sitting back down after she did.  
  
“Thank you.” She whispered to the Blade.  
  
“Empress,” He whispered back, grinning.

A good idea then.  
  
“Nice to see you join us,” Djura says, yellow eyes narrowing. Her long fingers flick outward across the table at them. “The Emporer was just explaining how our products are no longer needed.”  
  
Allura swallowed at the immediate weight over the entire table. This was absolutely nothing like the Balmera dinner.  
  
“O-Oh?” She said, trying to smile through the accusation and glance up at Lotor for his rebuttal.

He was staring at her.

Allura feels an embarrassed burning at the scrutiny.  

She finds his thigh and squeezes, knitting her brows to urge him to say something. His hand finds hers instantly, and she feels his fingers, his nails, flare from retraction, feels them grow along her skin. It’s a strange, otherworldly sensation.  
  
“Yes.” he finally breathes.  
  
“Yes?” The Overseer repeats, her drink clatters to the table.  
  
Lotor’s eyes snap to their guest, expression twisting in frustration before falling flat. “Yes, that is what we were discussing, but that isn’t what I claimed Djura, and you know that.”  
  
“Ha!” She laughs. Her shoulder nudges the Galra man next to her. He says nothing, red armor and wide, furry ears still as marble.  “Do I? Do I know what peacetime means to a sector that relies on building armory?” 

“You speak as though you would be the only one affected,” Kolivan says. His voice has more thrum to it than Lotor’s does. It shakes her to hear it.

“Don’t talk to me, Blade.” Djura tsks.  
  
“H-hey—!” She recognizes Keith’s voice, however, coming from somewhere down the table. “Don’t talk to—  
  
“Or you, paladin.”  
  
“Apre.” Lotor snaps. “You will receive the guests you agreed to receive as your position requires, Overseer.”

And then it’s silent.

Well.

This was going wonderfully.

Allura smooths her thumb over Lotor’s palm and feels the slight moisture there.

She clears her throat.  
  
“I imagine what Lotor means, is that this… great facility will simply see more work. If not building war sentries, then labor sentries for city development within the alliance.”

Djura is calmer, listening with brows raised and a soft unseeing gaze. But she still chuckles darkly after the sentence.  
  
“Oh? You imagine? You don’t _know_ what your mate thinks?”  
  
“Djura—”  
  
“As an Altean I don’t presume to tell your Emperor what to do with you.” Allura interrupts Lotor before he can admonish the woman. “That wouldn’t be my place.”

“How gracious!” Djura smacks the back of her chair as she sinks into it. She laughs, but this time it’s almost sweeter. “And here I thought we’d all be wearing flowers in our hair or frilly dresses bigger than our ships.”

Everyone is looking at her.

Djura’s eyes lower to the high Galra collar and the deep concord on her arms. Sharp and sleek.  
  
“Guess not.”  
  
Dayak deserves whatever promotion Lotor can bestow on her.

Dinner itself is a more or less quiet affair.  
  
She learns that the man in the red beside Overseer Djura is actually Avaar, Sendak’s lieutenant. She learns that mostly because the man keeps leaning over to antagonize Shiro, asking about his arm and his lion.

Every once in a while she hears Pidge too, voice raising as she argues with another of Sendak’s men. But it always quiets down and Lance shoots a small thumbs-up when she peers to make sure everything's okay.

She wonders if thats why she’s flanked by both Lotor and Kolivan. And why the paladins dot the table in segments with the others. For safety.  
  
Their unease eventually turns into a tired frustration.  
  
Djura is adamant in grilling her Emperor, and Lotor meets her at every angle he can.

“With the northern sector cut off from those who support the blood monarchy—”  
  
“It is not quarantined to you. The outpost is to ensure safety for everyone.” Lotor pushes his plate from him, resting his chin in his hand. Looking almost bored. Meal forgotten. “And if you support the bloodline then you also support me.”

Allura weaves her fingers into his.

He glances at her, eyes sweeping his gaze from her waist to her lips.

She swallows.

“That’s why we’re here.” He continues, not looking at the Overseer. “To ensure everyone’s desires are met.”

There’s something in Lotor’s eyes that she hasn’t seen before. Something closer to that strange tired-lazy-slacked expression that he’d had when he’d been under the weather on Doranic.

With sweat-slicked skin and his hair tied up.  
  
The dress. The ship. The dinner. It all seems to be making her feel hot.

No. Allura realizes, something burning erupting in her chest. _He was_. She knew that now. It was always him.

“You mean your desires.” The voice is a cold dagger through the air.

It’s Avaar.

Lotor looks away from her slowly. Like he's loathed to do so. Or she imagines that. She’s definitely imagining things.  
  
“Everyones. Mine and my people.”  
  
“Your people?” Avaar's elbow thuds on the desk. His hand's gesture at them with annoyance. “Alteans and humans and half-breeds.”

“I am Galra.” Lotor responds evenly. “I am my father’s son.”

“And your mother’s son.”

It’s almost as if there’s a competition to see how cold and silent one could get the room to be. A competition she most certainly did not sign up for. And neither did Lotor, judging by the way his claws tap along her knuckles beneath the table.  
  
Lotor straightens, shoulders lowering. There’s a smile on his face, but it looks nothing like one Allura remembers. Not one she’s seen before.  
  
“Please, Lieutenant,” He says, his free hand sweeping the air in a generous way. “Speak your mind. You were invited to do so on Sendak’s behalf.”  
  
Avaar shifts, frowning.  
  
“Since Sendak cannot do so on his own.”  
  
Allura cringes silently.

“Admiral Sendak leads the Fires of Purification, he can’t be—”  
  
“Admiral? Did he promote himself?”  
  
“It is obvious that he is where he finds the most important!” Avaar near yells this, fully ruffled. His large ears flare upward. “As a leader should do!”  
  
“Which is why I’m here, on the fringes of space, attending to all of my people including those who might disagree with me.” The grip on her hand is tight and Lotor’s voice is sharp. That loftiness she has come to appreciate used to a more biting end. If she thought Kolivan’s tone had been surprising, this shakes her to her core. “As is the Galra way, one without fear.”

Across from them, Djura settles low in her seat. She’s smiling at Lotor, quiet. Listening maybe. 

“A half breed tells me of the Galra way.” Avaar spits toward his plate. “Sendak knew better of Zarkon’s wishes than you ever had.”  
  
“Even if that were the case that would be exactly why Prince Lotor should rule us now,” Kolivan says. And it’s obvious Avaar is annoyed to be speaking to the Mamora leader. “Zarkon led us all on his own mad chase for power. For the lions of Voltron. He died for that cause. Lotor did not.”  
  
“And Sendak didn’t even get close,” Shiro says, smiling at her.

Allura smiles back at him.

“This is a conversation for Galra only.” Avaar reels. Pointing down at Shiro with a manic eye. “The Fires of Purification would not have—”  
  
“The Fires of Purification,” Lotor repeats, his tone so full of a mirthful lilt that everyone turns to look at him. Allura even sees Hunk and Keith lean forward with Pidge and Lance as if to hear better. “Pure of what? Stupidity?”  
  
“Blood!” Avaar smacks his fist on his chest.  
  
“The Galra have not been pure of blood for over seven thousand decaphobes,” Lotor says. His eyes are low on the table. She recognizes the expression immediately. That focused strategy. “Not since Ruan Bol’s expansion have we had pure clan’s blood from our ancestors on Daibazaal.”  
  
“Says the half-breed—”  
  
“I am more Galra in blood than any alive.” He bites. “Even with half of that from an Altean mother, Zarkon did not come from a line sullied by conquered races from other sectors of the universe.”  
  
Avaar’s face is frozen. Mouth open.  
  
Lotor flicks his neck, white locks sliding beyond his shoulder.  
  
Allura has never seen him like this.  
  
“What do you think happens to a species that spends millennia breeding with those they’ve dominated? Where do you think you got those ears?”

Lotor laughs. It’s a beautiful reverb through the hall. Everyone listens to it.  
  
Avaar’s claws raise up as if to touch the fur, but don’t make it all the way.  
  
“Did Zarkon have fur? A Tail? Like those of the Tyloth or the Gamnek? Don’t be absurd.” The Prince settled, coming back from his amusement to fall into that uninterested, bored expression once more. “Fires of Purification… I remember when your ancestors began taking mates to give you those features, lieutenant.”

There’s a familiar snickering somewhere down the table. Allura hears Lance shush it to silence.

It almost feels like Avaar is put rightly in his place. Like this dinner is going to turn around.  
  
“And now we take Altean mates,” Djura says. Her voice isn’t loud or angry like Avaar’s. And she’s still smiling. “Is that right?”  
  
Lotor says nothing and Allura can’t think of an answer either.  
  
“An alliance by marriage, or by true bonding through fires…” Djura trails. “You know that the Takkel Masi you give to us will be not but a quarter Galra.”  
  
There’s that word again.  
  
Lotor is stiff beside her. They both are.

“We are to watch our Empire be succeeded by a people who hated us.”

“Alteans did not hate the Galra!” She can’t help herself. She even lets go of his hand to brace her fists on the edge of the table.  
  
“They destroyed—”  
  
“No, they didn’t, I was there.” Allura glared. She can feel everyone’s eyes on her. Can feel Lotor loom close as if to stop, or maybe to help her. “Were you?”  
  
Djura just shrugs, shaking her head. Conceding an argument she knows she can’t win.  
  
“And yet, they will not be Galra of our own clans. Our own people.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter.”

She looks up to Lotor and finds him looking back. He looks strained. His fangs show with each word he says.  
  
“Any… children we have won’t be fated to rule just because they were birthed by royalty.” He turns to look at Djura, eyes level. “We don’t want to enforce another monarchy as my father did. We want a democracy.”  
  
“But here you sit!” Avaar piped. He was on his feet now. “Zarkon’s son, Emperor to the Galra!”

Shiro stood too.  
  
“Lotor won through Kral Zera!” Keith shouted down the table, also jumping from his seat.  
  
Allura’s heart sped up.  
  
“Oh! Convenient! As will his children, assumably— what difference does it make?” Avaar waves his hand in the air. A few of Sendak’s men cheer behind him.  
  
“Oh shut up Avaar.” Djura hisses, flicking her hand dismissively. “It’s not Prince Lotor who threatens the Galra way.”

The silence this time, is deafening. It’s like everyone waits as Djura’s eyes slide from Lotor to Allura, her smile ever-present.  
  
She sits straighter under the stare, glowering back for good measure.

“The arrangement is ill-suited.” Djura claims. She nods at Lotor, words cold and choppy. “Not for you. You as Emperor is good for us. But if you only take blood mates to make peace, you should take a Galra Empress. Not an Altean one.”

“Their union represents the Coalition—”  
  
“Oh, so it is not of true passion!” Djura sits forward to cut Coran off.

Allura stiffens.  
  
Lotor lets out a low hum from deep in his throat.  
  
“I think that if the Princess were truly for peace, she would not need a marriage to accomplish that.” Djura kicks the chair out from behind her, blue hair whipping and eyes thinning to slices. When she stands tall, she looks at Lotor. “I would better serve the Empire.”  
  
Lotor stands at the same time Allura does.

Everyone follows suit.

“I claim Prez Vik on the Empress, Allura.”

The cheers from different parts of the table rumble through her like hollow pangs, colder than any Balmera cave she could imagine.  
  
“You will serve your challenges to your Emperor!” Lotor yells, pointing down at the table in front of him.  
  
Djura only laughs.  
  
“I have no quarrel with you. I have no passion for you either—but I would do better than what you have now. Besides, she’s just as Galra as we are.” Her hand waves at Allura. Dress and all.   “Or that is what we are meant to believe.”  
  
“I accept.”

"What!?"  
  
“Allura!”  
  
“Princess, wait just a minute—”  
  
“Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh—”  
  
“Yessssss! Yes!!

“Allura, jeez—”  
  
“Princess.” Lotor whispers.  
  
But Djura has unsheathed a dagger from her hip. She flips it before slamming it into the dining table, shattering a plate and piercing the air around them with the sound.  
  
“Prez Vik! I will see you in Nalteth's ring, on the ancestor's dirt, where all can watch me take your place!”  
  
She honestly, simply, has no idea what it all means. But her body is wound tighter than ever. Her heart is thrumming in her ears.

And her lips are burning.  
  
“Empress.” Kolivan is holding his own dagger toward her, hilt extended.  
  
She snatches the metal quickly, yanking back her arm and slamming the weapon into the table.  
  
The room explodes in noise.  



	18. Garnet Pomegranate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mistiq drew a [scene from last chapter](http://mistiqartsillustration.tumblr.com/post/178858235024), [a pinch scene](http://mistiqartsillustration.tumblr.com/post/179048487320), [Djura the sentry queen](https://mistiqartsillustration.tumblr.com/post/179014394434/the-sentry-queen-djura-the-shark-galra-old), [Allura's galra clothes](http://aicosu.tumblr.com/post/178958740890/mistiqartsillustration-lilac-and-lush-inspired), and the [Doranic library!](http://mistiqartsillustration.tumblr.com/post/178984174266)
> 
> Peachy also drew [Allura's Galra getup,](https://twitter.com/PeachWhisk3y/status/1050946102105698305) but in a future telling of the Prez Vik outcome... 
> 
> Thank you guys!! We're so close now!

“To the left!”    
  
“Your left, our right.”    
  
“Right, of course.”   
  
“Left!”   
  
“Guys!” Hunk shouted. “I know you’re supposed to be helping Allura but this is confusing  _ me!” _ _   
_   
“LEFT!”   
  
“What?”   
  
Hunk went down with a quick sweep of her legs. His bayard lit up brilliantly when it hit the dirt, rolling into a hilt from his large gun. She didn’t have time to appreciate his cringed face or his defeat either, standing fast and stepping over him completely to dodge a swipe to her back.    
  
She twisted, finding Keith's angry focus only a few inches from her. She lifted the Galra blade in her hands to meet his and metal clanged over the air, drowning out voices from behind them.    
  
Allura bore down her weight. Keith’s expression went from determination to frustrated surprise, his human strength sinking into the gravel beneath her Altean one. He had to grab his hilt with both hands, sliding a screeching blade against hers. He checked behind him for space, for the room to backtrack. She took the opportunity to shove her elbow down past his face, moving his wrists above her shoulder and grabbing the sword from him with her free hand.    
  
A clean disarm. Keith huffed through gritted teeth, ducking from her slash at his head. Once, twice, thrice.    
  
“A-Allura!” He shouted through his braced arms, stepping backward fast.    
  
She heaved, dropping his blade to come at him faster.    
  
“Allura!” Keith stumbled over his shoes onto his rump, “Submit—Submission, Allura, you got it! You got me!” His voice went high, staring up the length of her sword with wide eyes. 

Her breath was pushed out of her chest in large exhales but her sudden smile was just as big.    
  
“Well, that wasn’t so bad!”    
  
“Yeah, for you!” Hunk called, standing and shoving his bayard into his hip with a sore expression. 

“No kidding,” Keith grumbled, dusting the dirt from his uniform.    
  
“Even still.” Shiro was laying flat on his back, a few yards away. “We should run that again.” He said to the sky.    
  
Allura frowned, walking over to help him to his feet.    
  
“Can we do it without the cheerleading this time?”    
  
“Yeah! I agree with Keith, no more backseat fighting!” Hunk pointed.    
  
Allura turned to see Coran’s shoulders fall beside Dayak. The woman didn’t look intimidated though.    
  
“We’re only trying to be helpful!”   
  
“I appreciate that Coran,” She smiled. “But if I’m being honest the others are right. I can’t really focus on what you’re saying while I’m out here.” She gestured to the empty coliseum around them, her voice nothing but a small echoed thing in the cold air of Nalteth. 

“It has nothing to do with helping you and everything to do with distraction.” Dayak sniffed, somehow sounding much louder than anyone else, there was a booming in her voice that was not to be ignored. “This whole arena will be filled with Galra and their passionate, blood-curdling yeepar will be far more distracting than anything we can offer.”   
  
“What’s yeepar?” Shiro asked. 

“It means cheer.”   
  
“Cheer.”

“Yeepar means cheer.”

Allura, Hunk and Keith all eye each other after answering at the same time.    
  
“Well, in any case, unless all of you are shouting, I don’t think the effect is the same.”  Allura tried to laugh off the idea.    
  
“I can arrange for our squadron to wake in order to replicate such—”    
  
“That’s not necessary!” Allura hurried, raising her hands at Dayak. “Truly! Do not let me deprive them of their rest before tomorrow.”    
  
Dayak shrugged, nose high in the air. 

Allura relaxed, steadying the blade at her side before looking toward Keith.    
  
“Perhaps we move on to something more one on one? Something more like what will be expected with Djura?”    
  
Keith looks not at all encouraged, but he nods, flipping his own sword in his wrist and coming back out to the center of the coliseum. 

But a voice breaks over them before Allura can ready herself.    
  
“Ah, so it is here I find all of you.”    
  
Allura turns a lot slower than everyone else to see Lotor. 

Something flutters in her chest at the sight of him. Had been fluttering, for some time, and she wants to delay it. If she can fool herself that it didn’t start already at the mere sound of his voice.   
  
He takes the steps down the coliseum seating two at a time. An easy and graceful trek emphasized by his lack of armor.    
  
Is it terribly incriminating that Allura recognizes the Galra sleeping tunic? Even at this distance?   
  
It couldn’t be helped. It looked good on him.     
  
“I was not aware the ancient’s ground was open for training.” 

He hits the dirt with a quirked brow at Dayak, who bows low as he passes her.    
  
“It was my idea,” Allura admits, sword dropping to her side. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“None of us could,” Shiro says, before crossing his arms and looking around. “Well, aside from Pidge and Lance I guess.” 

Lotor passes by Shiro without looking at him. And Hunk. And Keith.    
  
Allura stands straighter, shoulders set, eyes level with his unwavering gaze. It does nothing once he reaches her, she has to look up. And her cheeks go hot. Burning. 

“Neither could I,” he finally says. Quietly. 

She dips her chin low, biting her lip to keep herself from apologizing. But he doesn’t look upset. Or burdened. Or particularly tired. In fact, he looks fresh. Awake. With alert eyes and flushed skin. He looks warm.   
  
And then suddenly she gets the urge to apologize anyway. Maybe just to feel his claws on her ear.    
  
“But Djura is no swordswoman.” He turns away, nodding at Keith, who looks down at his blade as if being accused of something. “She is old fashioned and not just in the way of beliefs. She will want a match of true strength.”   
  
“Hand to hand?” Shiro guesses. “No weapons at all?”   
  
“The rules of Prez Vik allow both parties to use any weapons, tools or…” Lotor’s eyes slide to her. He smiles. Allura spots his fang in it. “powers, that they have access to.”    
  
Maybe it’s the training. It’s not. But maybe it is because she’s sweating. Melting. Burning.    
  
“It is the Galra belief that any such abilities or advantages are still within the true prowess of anyone. That if a challenger cannot beat their opponent simply because they have a quintessence-imbued-ax, so to speak, that is not because of inequality but because of a lack of overcoming adversity.”    
  
“But it _ is _ bad manners.” 

“Dayak is right.” Lotor takes her blade from her hands and then retrieves Keith’s who hands it to him with a little bow. “Allura could show up in Voltron tomorrow, raze Djura to the ground with cannons and still be deemed fair, but everyone will know otherwise.”    
  
“That does sound easier.” Everyone looks at Hunk. He raises his hands up, shaking his head. “Not the razing to the ground part, exactly!! No! I just mean, showing up in Voltron would put an end to it, right?” 

“On the contrary,” Lotor pointed both swords at the yellow paladin. Hunk froze, neck leaned away from the blades. “Such a show would only draw out more challenges, if only to rebel against the injustice done to the tradition. And inevitably that would lead to all-out treason. Or insurrection.”    
  
“O-Oh.”    
  
Lotor flipped the blades to their hilts and gestured them to Hunk, who took them both diligently.    
  
“No. Djura will step into the arena with no arms in order to force that same respect from Allura. That I guarantee.” 

“So hand-to-hand,” Shiro confirmed and let out a soft sigh. “Right.”

“Yes.” Lotor crossed the arena again. “Dayak?” 

The governess met him, already reaching out her fist to hand over a bundle of wraps Allura imagined she must have known would be requested. Maybe even the moment Lotor had arrived. 

Lotor brought them back to Allura, handing over two long strips while another two remained in his palms. His claws extended their length before weaving them through his fingers.    
  
Oh.    
_   
_ _ Oh. _

“If you want a true spar for tomorrow, Princess,” He said. His eyes are on her even as he continues wrapping. “You should practice close combat. With me.”    
  
Allura rolls the fabric in her hands and finds herself smiling, laughing, almost. “I-I couldn’t—” 

“I am no stranger to the way Galra fight.”   
  
“I wouldn’t want to keep you from your sleep.”    
  
Lotor pauses, hands winding around themselves coming to a stop. His lids lower. His mouth is parted.     
  
“It is already too late for that, Allura.” 

There’s something rough in the way he says it. Something...   
  
Explicit.    
  
But that’s ridiculous. He meant with worry,  _ surely. _ Obviously. That grin, that light in his eyes, that garnet pomegranate under the lilac of his cheeks or the edges of his lips—that’s her imagination.

Isn’t it?   
  
Allura starts wrapping her knuckles.    
  
“Well, I’m not a stranger to fisticuffs either, Lotor.” She says, head high. There’s a refused smile in her expression though. One he obviously sees.    
  
Because he just smiles wider.   
  
“I do not question that, Princess.”

“Good.”    
  
It doesn’t take them long to get ready. And it isn’t until Lotor moves to the center of the ring that anyone says anything.    
  
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to you know… fight each other?” Hunk asks, eyes creased in worry. “Isn’t that illegal? Right? Because they’re married?”   
  
“It’s not real.” Shiro is the one to reassure him with a hand on his shoulder. “And it’s a good chance to prepare for what comes tomorrow..”    
  
“Just like the Prince said.” Keith nods.    
  
“I’ll be fine Hunk.” She even gives him a small wave as she stands across from Lotor. “We both will.”

Lotor’s hands drop to his sides.

He’s long. Tall. A pillar of light, from the white of his hair to the pastel of skin, in the dark of the empty night air and the vastness of a coliseum. Allura would think him a beautiful statue if she couldn’t see the wind in his locks or his chest breathe up and down. 

“I’m not holding back.” She warned, fingers squeezing the wraps against her skin. It was mostly a reminder to herself. There was a nervousness she couldn’t shake off at the thought of hitting him. “I didn’t do so with the boys.”    
  
His chuckle was faint in the distance between them. “One should hope not.”    
  
“I expect the same of you.”    
  
His hand patted his heart momentarily. “As you wish.” 

“Pravat!” 

Allura turned, surprised at the intense volume boomed from Dayak as she rose her arm.   
  
Across from her, Lotor lowered on his knees. 

She did the same. 

His smile was gone. 

Behind her, Hunk coughed.    
  
Allura swallowed. 

“UTOK!” 

Lotor moved first, but it wasn’t what she expected.    
  
It was slow. A push off his back foot to begin circling around her. His tunic followed in a graceful sway, dancing about his knees. She mimicked him in the opposite direction, keeping them parallel instead of giving him a chance at her flank.   
  
Already, it wasn’t like fighting the paladins. 

That had been fast and loud; full of complaining and directions, of metal on metal, and gravel ripping under their feet as they ran hectic around the arena. 

This was silent.    
  
Deliberate.    
  
She wondered how much of it Lotor was staging to inform her of what to expect from Djura, and how much of it was just the way  _ he _ approached combat. 

Allura couldn’t hear him move even at only a meter apart. She could hear her own heart though, and it was getting faster.    
  
His hands were relaxed in the air, claws long and loose, not fisted like hers were, ready for strikes. She grit her teeth, gaze switching between his footwork and the distracting look in his eyes. That waken alertness she couldn’t name.

And then he moved. 

It was straightforward but low, an extended knee, and then a swipe of his leg, right at her own shins and  _ oh,  _ he was so, _ so _ tall—the length of him reached past her completely, and— _ oh _ —

She stepped sideways quickly, spinning away from the trip. Just barely.    
  
But he was so long that when he came up again he was right there, right at her, all around, shoulder grazing against her ribs, long arms enclosing her body. A grab—already! So quickly! She’d greatly underestimated the mere  _ reach _ of him. 

Heat burned into her side—claws wrapping about her forearms to grip her into his chest. She struggled and felt the immediate resistance. The immediate strength. That iron grip, stilling her muscles with his, pressing her flush against him, arms high in the air above them. 

Position four in an Altean waltz, but a dangerous lock in a fight. 

When he breathed it puffed warm air into her ear.    
  
She barely had time to swallow, barely had time to understand how close she was to him before instincts brought her elbows slamming down on his shoulders, breaking his hold. He tried to find it again, arms grabbing at her wrists but Allura threw a punch he had to catch first. And then another. And then she was pushing him back across the arena, trying to corner him with blocks. 

He was taller, but he was also broader. There was more to hit. More to cover.    
  
But he was just as fast.    
  
There was an airiness to Lotor she had never expected. Maybe it was the illusion of his hair, white trailing him like a comet’s tail, blazing and brilliant. He met her kicks too, knocking her ankles back with his elbows or his palms.    
  
He only returned the strikes a few times, but his punches gusted wind across her skin, deafening her ear or freezing her heart into a skipped beat. Her eyes widened for a moment before she launched back into attacks of her own.

She caught him once. 

Her fist passed his fingers, scraping nails, before nicking his chin.    
  
Pomegranate seeds of blood speckled lilac. 

Or at least she thought it had been a miss. 

He took the blow in order to regain a hold, letting her punch bring her straight into him. And just like a waltz again, he twisted her effortlessly back into his arms. 

Heat slammed into her skin once more. Calves to neck. She caught her breath. 

Her elbow ached as he bent it backward and locked it against her spine.    
  
A puff of air on her neck made her shiver.    
  
“You're afraid to hit me.” He said. It was shaky. Like his heart was beating as fast as hers.    
  
There was blood rushing in her ears. 

“I am not!”    
  
“You are.”   
  
“I proposed didn’t I?”    
  
He laughed. It shook them both where they stood. Allura felt like her cheeks were vibrating, head cradled by his sternum as it was. She could feel his tunic collar in her hair.    
  
She frowned at the empty Coliseum in front of her. Then she glared. 

She wasn’t this  _ easy.  _

Allura lifted all of her weight from the ground, pushing upwards. Lotor held her fast, balancing her on reflex, obviously not understanding what she was doing even as her foot slid against his boot, then his knee, and then the other along his thigh. 

“Ahn—” He grunted, eyes wide now that she could see him, clumsy but climbing, shoving her legs between their chests.

Well if he was tall, then why not take advantage of the vantage? 

His grip starting breaking but not before she had both knees on both shoulders.

Lotor rolled his lip under his canine, grunting with the effort to hold her, eyes averted from her pelvis in front of him. 

She smiled. Grinned even. 

When she jerked her hips sideways, entire body swaying, Lotor must have realized her intent, because he had just enough time to let go of her wrists to brace his side—

—before they hit the ground.    
  
“Ah.” He heaved as the wind knocked out of him. As if coming to a revelation.

Allura tried not to notice that his head was between her thighs. 

She sat back on his chest, knees pressed into his biceps to keep them pinned, keep him planted there for her strikes. She grabbed a fistful of the tunic collar, yanking his head up to aim her knuckles at the clean cuts of his cheekbones.    
  
Dirt scraped behind her. 

_ Legs, _ she’d forgotten about his legs.    
  
She yelped a strangled noise, muffled and awkward—when his knee smashed into her back and slid her forward. 

He grunted beneath her, face somewhere about her stomach. She scrambled to get off, but he was too quick now. He’d caught her too off guard. And his claws found her waist easily, digits pressing into her skin. A secure sensation she knew should be more warning than comforting.

Or exciting.

Allura flushed hot red even as he rolled her under him.    
  
Or well—hm—maybe _ because of, _ too. 

He didn’t make the mistake she did. He took both arms in one hand and used his hips to pin her thighs down. Covering all exits.   
  
Allura swallowed.

His white hair slid from his shoulders to tickle her cheek.    
  
The light was blocked out. His hair a curtain and his body a cage. 

Sweat pearled at the side of his ear, slipping down to his neck. Allura watched the trail of it before flickering her gaze back up to his. 

They both heaved, catching their breath. Out of sync but in tandem. Her inhale on his exhale, and again, and again. 

He was warm. Hot. Hot enough to melt her from the inside. A pool of heat stilled between her hips. Right above his thighs.    
  
Could he so easily hold her like this? All at once?

She hadn’t even seen him coming at the start. Hadn’t moved quickly enough. And he was bigger, so slower too, surely?   
  
His lips parted as if he was going to tell her something. A pointer, or another tease. But instead, his tongue just slid out to lick his teeth. It was pink. Pale garnet.   
  
Oh.   
  
“You’re faster then I imagined.”    
  
It took her a second to realize she’d said it out loud. And even longer to move her gaze from the plush wet of his mouth to his eyes, where they dilated at her words.    
  
“I can be slow if I wish it.” He hummed, his smile was hesitant, gradual, as if proving it.   
  
It made her smile back.    
  
They laughed. Quiet and shaky, out of breath but  _ in _ on the feeling. Whatever it was.    
  
There was shouting somewhere. Distantly. Something about spitting. 

Oh—right—!   
  
A different, embarrassed heat filled her from head to toe. _ Stars _ —this was— it was supposed to be a training session!    
  
She cringed, elbows dragging his own down so she could place her hands on his biceps.    
  
“Ha—ahn!” His laugh cut short as his shocked gaze found their arms entangled, and he wrestled with her fingers, lifting slightly to snatch her wrists.

She took the small relief of weight as a chance to roll her body to the side, sliding him to the ground. He let go, shoulders thudding to the dirt, leaving his legs defenseless in her lap.    
  
Allura grabbed the entirety of his thigh.   
  
“Allu—!”   
  
She swung the weight of him, his head and hair dusting against the Coliseum dirt, claws digging into the ground. It was for naught when she stood off her knees and swung him into a release, sending him across the arena in a flurry of dust.    
  
Allura heaved, shoulders dropping in exhaustion as Lotor rolled to his side.

She closed her eyes, feeling humiliation soak up the heat of having his body so close. Under her, on top of her, all over—    
  
_ Stars.  _   
  
“PESTAT!” Dayak shouted. 

“Lotor!” Keith gasped. 

“Ohmygosh, ohmygosh—”   
  
“The Princess tricked him!” Coran whooped.

“Yeah!! That’s what I’m talking about!” Shiro yelled.    
  
“She has the warrior’s strength of Yulon the destroyer!”   
  
Allura frowned, turning to watch Dayak preen with unabashed amusement.    
  
“Shiro.” She admonished first, honestly surprised at the normally unbiased leader. 

Shiro’s arms dropped immediately.    
  
“I mean—good job Allura. Great timing.”

Dayak was snickering.    
  
“Ancients,” she sighed and crossed the grounds to Lotor.    
  
“Well, I suppose it’s time to submit once your own governess loses faith in you.”    
  
He was a sight. Something akin to when she’d proposed, laid back on his elbows, heaving hard enough that his breath emphasized the thinness of his waist. There was dirt in his hair, and it skewed across his face. 

His chin had those pomegranate seeds, smeared along his jaw. 

Allura imagined licking them. 

Burning, she was burning. 

Swallowing she helped him up with an offered hand.    
  
“I didn’t mean to throw you that far.” She said up to him, standing giving her a brisk reminder of his height and stature.    
  
“Is that an apology?” He huffs, smiling, gaze dancing to her ears. They burn.    
  
“N-no…” She stressed, rolling her eyes up to his smile and giving her own. “Of course not.”   
  
He just hums, hands brushing the dust from his tunic.   
  
She steps closer without thinking, unfolding the collar and dragging her fingers through his tresses, shaking the gravel from the white. 

Lotor just returns the favor, reaching across her head to pat at the bun on her head.    
  
“My grappling ended with catching you.” His voice is low. Rough. “Djura’s will end with choking you. As a traditionalist and a prejudiced-driven individual, she favors feats of strength and will assume your more delicate stature one to easily overpower.”   
  
“Delicate?” Allura tugged a strand of his hair before placing it cleanly behind his shoulder again.    
  
His smile twitches into nothing, gaze somewhere low on her face. Like her lips. Or her neck. Or perhaps the exposed collarbones and chest of her combat suit. And then just like that, it’s back, burning right through her.    
  
“Deceivingly so, yes.”    
  
His hand left her hair to brush a knuckle at her cheek. Then his thumb swiped over her lip, fast and hot, before dropping to his side. 

She hadn’t even felt dirt there. Her fingers hovered at the spot. 

“She is bigger, heavier, and stronger than me.” He said. “But if she makes the mistake of getting you as close as I did, I have no doubt she will pay the price for it.”   
  
“So you  _ were _ fighting as she might.” She tilted her head at him.    
  
“Something like.”   
  
“That’s relieving to hear. I had hoped you not so easily domineered.”    
  
Lotor’s mouth splits, teeth shining in the light of the arena. He loomed over her, hand coming to play at her elbow.    
  
“Domineered, princess?”    
  
Oh.    
  
Well.   
  
Her body was fire but somehow she smiled right through it, brows lifting high on her head. Ears red, she teased, “Yes, we can’t have the Emperor ruling from his back.”   
  
Lotor seemed impossibly closer in only a tick. His chin dipped, back bowed to meet her level. He was smiling.    
  
“Even if he finds the view satisfactory?”   
  
She was giggling even before he was finished, and her hand squeezed his arm before she winked and said, “There are private chambers for that sort of thing.” 

His smile fell. He blinked quickly, breath coming out in a shaky mess of heat across her face.    
  
Oh, wait—stars—

Had she  _ winked  _ at him?   
  
“With that instinct, Allura has nothing to worry about tomorrow.”    
  
Allura turned to meet Shiro fast enough to make her dizzy. Also fast enough to ignore whatever reaction Lotor had at her stupid gesture. Stupid, stupid, stupid.    
  
She stepped forward to meet the group approaching them.    
  
Good, distance between them, yes.    
  
“Agreed.” Dayak came to a stop with a prideful looking expression. “I have never seen one meet the speed of our Blood Emperor before. Not on Galra grounds.”   
  
“Well, well—” Coran tsked, patting a hand on his chin. “Then you have never fought across an Altean!”   
  
“Oh?” Dayak blinked, large yellow eyes looking a sort of, imitated, surprise. She grinned. “Are all of you so swift?”   
  
“Swift as a snazzletigg’s tail in a game of cameroon.” He said and bumped his shoulder against her.   
  
Dayak giggled. It was about as strange a sound as anything she could imagine.    
  
Allura cringed. At least she wasn’t hot anymore.    
  
“Riiiiiight.” Shiro shifted an arm on his neck, looking just as disturbed as Allura felt. “Point being, I think we can all rest easy.”    
  
“Are you kidding!?”   
  
It was Pidge.    
  
Everyone turned to see her, trailing into the coliseum with frizzy hair, skewed glasses, and wrinkled sleeping clothes.

“I can’t get  _ any _ rest and here you guys all are, practicing the fight without telling me?” her shoulders lifted in a shrug that looked pretty accusatory. 

“It was only a late-night, quick, spar—”   
  
“I keep having to wake up to shut off the alert for our territory drones,” She ignored, passing by Shiro to stand before Allura and Lotor.  A screen buzzed from her paladin wristlet. “I got readings on both flagship one and the shadow cruiser.”    
  
“Haggar?” Hunk asked, piping up and pushing through to lean on his knees and read the interface.  “Her signal’s been tagged?”   
  
“Apparently. The drones won’t shut up about it and—” Pidge paused, gaze leaving the screen to look at Lotor. She frowned and turned to Allura. “What happened to him?”   
  
“What?”   
  
Allura found the Prince staring at her.    
  
His eyes blinked fast. 

“Hn?”    
  
“You okay there buddy?” Pidge asked.   
  
“Yes of course.” he turned to the paladin quickly and stepped forward to the screen. “This is Haggar’s signal.”   
  
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Pidge stressed, sounding slightly annoyed. “It appears she’s left Sendak’s fleet completely to cross sectors and head down south.”   
  
“How curious.”   
  
Allura watched him, his finger curled on his chin, seemingly back to normal from… _ staring at her. _ _   
_   
“What about Sendak?” Shiro asked.    
  
“He’s still cruising in circles outside Nalteth. Trying to look intimidating, I bet.” Pidge shrugged. “His fleet’s pretty broken up, but there’s some here. Probably getting ready for tomorrow’s fight?”   
  
“That sounds about right.” Coran mused. “There’s a lot at stake if the Prez Vik ends in their favor.”   
  
“Purebloods will honor the results of any outcome. It is law.” Dayak agreed.    
  
“I’m more concerned with Haggar’s motives then Sendak’s.” Lotor shook his head, standing from Pidge’s height. “Keep an eye on it for me, won’t you?”   
  
“You got it.” 

“We should all get rest.” Shiro crossed his arms. “We have a big day tomorrow.”   
  
“He’s right.” Allura breathed, feeling adrenaline leave her in a small buzz of warmth that made her skin a little numb. It felt good. “Thank you, everyone, for helping me prepare.”   
  
“Of course, Princess.”   
  
“Sure.”   
  
“Anytime, Allura.”   
  
“The desires of Lotor’s wife are mine as well.” Dayak bows. Everyone’s gratitude falls short to watch the woman do so, dramatic and slow.    
  
Allura feels fluttering in her stomach that makes her want to run away. Or punch something. Preferably not the Prince, who also seems likewise put on the spot from what she saw of him in her periphery.    
  
_ Wife.  _

Stars.    
  
That on top of the ridiculous thing she had said about... private—  _ goodness. _

“That being said, can you switch rooms with me, Keith?”    
  
“What? Why?” Keith glared at Pidge.    
  
“Because I can’t sleep in a room with Lance.”   
  
“Are you kidding? Why not?”   
  
“Because.”   
  
“Because why?”   
  
“Because I can’t!” Pidge’s glasses nearly fell off as she snapped up at the boy.    
  
“Jeez!” Keith put up his hands as if scared the girl would bite him. “Okay. Whatever— just—” He gestured back up the exits of the coliseum. “Show me what room it is.”    
  
“We’re up early tomorrow!” Shiro shouted after them as they left, Hunk in tow. 

“You should go too, Shiro.” Allura stepped to the black paladin with a soft tone. “I’ll need everyone in tip-top condition if things go…” She trailed.    
  
Shiro frowned at her.    
  
“Not as planned.” She finished lamely, trying to smile. It was weak.   
  
But he just nodded and patted her shoulder.    
  
“It won’t, but you’re right. And you should too.”    
  
“Yes, Allura, you should—” Coran started, finger raised.    
  
“I’m staying here a little while longer.”    
  
Coran’s mustache and finger fell.    
  
“But—”   
  
She shook her head at the two. “I want to practice. Just a bit more.”    
  
“I will stay as well. To assist.”    
  
The boy’s looked over her shoulder to where she assumed Lotor loomed behind her. His voice and his words made her stomach flop over a few times.    
  
But it also made her heart thud in excitement.    
  
“Alright, get some… training in.” Shiro eyed her and Lotor, before smiling and waving. “Coran? You coming?”   
  
“I should sta—”   
  
“Dayak you are dismissed.” Lotor interrupted, coming to a stance beside her but looking pointedly at his governess.    
  
She bowed low.    
  
“I should go.” Coran amended. “Goodnight princess.”   
  
“Goodnight.” 

They watch them all go, standing silently in the dirt training grounds for some time until their friends’ shadows disappeared past the empty seats. 

There was a cool breeze of some sort on Nalteth, an already empty planet with nothing to stop the winds from pressing into her suit and shivering her spine. It was worse with the cool of sweat from earlier. 

She tried to pointedly not look at Lotor, which was why it was more surprised when she finally did. He was already staring at her. 

Funny, she was hot all over again. Just like that.

“Ahm—em—” She stuttered, twisting to gesture at the ring. “We should practice.”    
  
“Yes.” 

They didn’t move.    
  
He looked pensive but relaxed. His eyes had a warmth reminiscent of a smile not actually on his face that put her at ease, nervous as she was.    
  
“I’m not apologizing, but,” She began.    
  
He was already chuckling. Already breaking from his quiet reverie to smile fully.    
  
Had she never noticed how easily she could cause it before?   
  
“But I wanted to say—”   
  
“ ‘Sorry’?” He wondered.    
  
“I’m not sorry.” She said, with such a vigor he froze. “I’m not sorry for accepting Prez Vik. I’m not.”   
  
He waited.    
  
Allura paced toward him, looking around desperately and snatching his hand in hers, tugging urgently toward the stone seating in the perimeter of the coliseum. He came easily.    
  
When she sat, there was a strange, odd sensation of something familiar. Of him in her room aboard the Castle, embarrassed and nervous at the idea of asking him to sit beside her.    
  
This time she patted the spot beside her with no qualms.    
  
“I don’t have any regrets.” She began again, leaning over his lap. “It was needed.”   
  
“Allura.”   
  
“And I’m not apologizing for that, especially for that. It’s a defense against your honor. Or your—” Her eyes danced away and then back again. “Your attention as a…”   
  
“Allura.” He tried to smile, it looked wary.   
  
“As a mate.”   
  
She could actually see him swallow. The bob in his throat apparent between the narrow opening of his collar.    
  
“Allura.” His hand found hers. Claws skimming across her skin to lace their fingers together. “I’m not angry with you.”    
  
“I know.” She clasped his hands and brought them to her lap. He eyed the movement briefly. “I know you aren’t. And I wasn’t apologizing for it I just wanted to express my regret… my  _ sympathy _ ,”    
  
He hummed at the correction.    
  
“... at having not taken into account the… more base details of our arrangement.” She ended, sighing long and harshly. Even the admittance was hard. 

But they had to talk about it. 

No more avoiding it.    
  
“Base details.” He repeated.    
  
“Admittedly I forgot all about it.” She shook her head. “Which is selfish of me. And while I do not apologize for that or for proposing in the first place, or the Alliance, I am sorry for not considering your… desires for… lineage.”   
  
Lotor looks utterly surprised. His hands almost jump in hers.    
  
“Children are….” She trails. Her tone sounds helpless. She feels it.    
  
“Allura.” He tried.    
  
“...obviously….part…of...this...”   
  
“Allura—”   
  
“...should you ever—”   
  
“Hn—” His hands leave hers completely. She nearly catches them again, but instead just rushes the rest of her thought out.   
  
“—want to sire a true takkel child then you should know I would not mind your dalliance or desire to _ seek _ one, that’s a right by any and especially since as Emperor, you may—”   
  
“Dalliance? Allura, you—”   
  
“Mistress? Is there a word for it in Galra?” Her heart is somewhere in her ears. There’s an alarm screaming at her that this is not a topic to be discussed. But it _ is. _ And she had to take the leap at some point.    
  
Lotor’s expression is empty. Unreadable. 

She swallows.    
  
“I shouldn’t want you to feel any great sacrifice on such an intimate and personal level at the expense of our Alliance.” At this point, she’d probably already said too much. Or said something wrong. But she can’t stand the silence. “And Djura strikes a point—”   
  
He tsks a loud and snappy click of his tongue on his teeth.    
  
“Djura has no point but to make herself look foolish.”    
  
“To have a full Galra—”   
  
“I meant what I said about legacy. About lineage.” He said, hands leaning him back to relax further against the stone. His eyes stare out to the empty arena. “Takkel  _ masi, _ ” He corrects, making Allura blush. “is an old, outdated and archaic practice when our clan-based culture still favored blood over skill. An unfortunate way of thinking still prevalent despite the creation of Kral Zera.”   
  
“Oh.”   
  
“There hasn’t been any other ruler besides my father for ten thousand decaphoebs. It’s almost a little understandable that none of the Galra know how to proceed with the new one. Through fire and skill, through blood, both? They are lost and seem to be inciting anything they can barely remember as being tradition.” His eyes meet hers again and there’s a tiredness there. Or maybe a sadness. “Losing my father was… also a loss of my people’s identity. He so perverted everything to be about him that  _ withou _ t him…”   
  
Allura finds his hands again.    
  
Maybe that’s true for him too. Even if he wasn't saying that exactly.    
  
“I see.”   
  
“Hn.”

She pulls her shoulder close to his, knees touching and hands entangled as they look at the empty ring in the night sky. Any wind is sheathed from her by his form and she ducks her chin on his arm in gratitude.    
  
“I do not want any children of mine to claim the throne by blood alone.” He says. “I do not even want there to be a throne to claim.”   
  
“You want to make a… democracy of the Galra Empire?”   
  
“Don’t sound too judgmental, princess.”    
  
“I’m not!”    
  
She jumps to glare up at his face, but he just looks amused. Like he expected it. She tries not to break her accusing look but fails.    
  
His thumb rolls over hers, thoughtfully.    
  
“Not right away of course. Such a task is gradual. And I have… I couldn’t relinquish my rule that way as I have…”   
  
His brow furrows and he looks away from her enough that Allura has to follow him.    
  
“What is it?”   
  
“I have so much  _ time _ .” He stressed, through a smile that looks nothing like one. “It is why Takkel Masi is such a ridiculous concept when—”

“—you will not age to the time they would succeed you.”   
  
“—and they might not either.”   
  
“Oh.”   
  
Something heavy settles in her stomach. It’s hard to look away from him, but Allura almost has too.    
  
“I have… enough evidence.” He continued. Tentative. Slow. “That children of mine share the same genetic disposition I carry. That of what Honevera and my father brought back from the rift.”    
  
Agelessness. Immortality.    
  
Allura blinked up at the sky. It was hard to wrap her head around. Often times she simply forgot how old Lotor really was. How old he would always be.    
  
“Do you not want them?” She asked, turning. 

The question, again, seemed to surprise him.    
  
“It’s…” He trailed. “A complex issue.”

It wasn’t really an answer, but somehow Allura didn't really need one. Complex did kind of cover the entire topic.    
  
“But Allura,  _ you— _ ”   
  
“Me!” She stiffened.   
  
“Your proposition for dalliances seems more fitted to your situation than mine, as Empress.”   
  
“Excuse me?” She almost pulled her hand away but opted to send him a deadly look instead.    
  
Lotor’s lips curled in amusement before evening into seriousness.    
  
“You’re Altean.” he said simply. “I would not assume to know what you desire but if propagating your people was part of it—”   
  
“That—oh—that’s— _ oh, _ ” She leaned away, waving dismissively. He caught her hand.    
  
“You would have my utmost permission and encouragement to have that desire. I would see to it, be it with Coran or—”   
  
“Coran!!” She did pull away this time, standing to her feet to loom over him, barely, with his height. “C-Coran!!??”    
  
“It’s something that’s crossed my mind.” He said. Not at all perturbed by her obvious offense.    
  
“It’s ‘crossed your mind’!” Her voice is very high. Her throat is dry.    
  
“Your children are something I’ve thought of since we met after Naxzela.” 

She has to… think, for a moment. After he says that. Her mind reels to the past. To conversation with the Prince behind glass and energy. When he had been nothing but an untrustworthy prisoner she’d considered spacing whilst he’d apparently considered…  _ her children. _ _   
_   
“You are… the last of the Alteans.” He said quietly. Like the words were sacred. “I… had previously thought there would never be such a thing. And Coran as well. Between the two of you, pure blooded remnants—”   
  
“I could never—”   
  
“Please do not misunderstand that I am insinuating you do,” He urged. 

Lotor stood.   
  
“I simply mean, I also should not want you to feel a great sacrifice on an intimate or personal level either.”    
  
“Yes, but a  _ mistress _ —”   
  
“Or a  _ mister _ ,”    
  
She glared. 

He smiled, warm and wary.    
  
“I wouldn’t take anyone.”   
  
“Nor would I.”   
  
“Lotor!”   
  
But they were at an impasse.   
  
She crossed her arms and his fell to his side.

How stubborn.    
  
But Allura wasn’t sure if that was about him or herself. Both it seemed.    
  
She sighed.    
  
“At this rate, the entire Empire is going to know our arrangement was all an initial sham.”   
  
“Hn.” He eyed her, quietly.  His hands clenched at his sides.    
  
“Perhaps that will change tomorrow?” She asked. But he remained reserved. Lost in something. “Prez Vik is supposed to be passionate, isn’t it?”   
  
“Violence does rile us Galra quite a bit.” He said finally, with an air of humor.    
  
“If I throw her far enough, does that prove my affections?” She teased, smiling.    
  
But Lotor is quiet again, eyes leaving her to look at the Coliseum. 

She frowns, following his gaze. 

But the arena is still empty. The sky is bare, and the silence still blankets them in a way only nightfall can. Cool and even. Assuring but anticipatory.    
  
She’s still staring at it when his hand, warm, smooth, and familiar, finds hers again.    
  
When she turns she finds him closer than before, with an expression so urgent and concerned she feels her chest tighten and snap.    
  
“Stay with me tonight.”   
  
Air leaves her.    
  
“What?” She exhales, the word lost in the space between them. 

“I have no real doubts that you will prevail but considering the smallest opportunity that Djura makes her claim and tonight is the last night I might partake of your company,” He holds his breath on the sentence, lids lowering before he releases it, “I would not waste it.”

There’s a strange creeping feeling at hearing him voice the fear. And Allura feels jumbled. Cramped. Maybe like how he might have felt in the caverns of the Balmera. Claustrophobic. It was only a night ago, but it feels far away. That cozy warmth.    
  
And shame.    
  
She swallows. And it’s selfish. But she can’t exactly imagine going to lie down in that Galra bed, on a factory planet, alone, before her theoretical last night.

“Yes.” She nods, body shaking and eyes blinking. “Yes, yes.”    
  
His hands squeeze hers and his smile is tight, but his eyes are bright.    
  
“Thank you.”   
  



	19. Pink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance! These last two chapters ended up being so ridiculously long, they've been split into four! So expect three more after this, chapter count to finish has been updated! And now hopefully no more delay in updates!! 
> 
> Citizensinbin did [a beautiful painting for L&L here! ](http://citizensinbin.tumblr.com/post/180073794598)And a speedpaint for it too! 
> 
> Jessearts did a [hilarious comic prediction](http://jessarts.tumblr.com/post/179491192638) for this chapter based on a review by LunarMagnolia! 
> 
> And Misitiqarts did one of [Allura and Lotor after their spar from last chapter!!!](http://mistiqartsillustration.tumblr.com/post/179455411094)

“We’ve received transmissions from Sendak’s fleet.”    
  
“Anything about the southern sectors?”   
  
“No, sir.” Kolivan lowered his eyes.  “But I recommend a review over today’s security to prepare despite the lack of activity. Just in case.”   
  
“Agreed.” 

“I can take you to the debrief now if you—”    
  
“No.” His hand hovers on the door lock, and he can’t help but glance on it. “Not yet.”   
  
Kolivan follows his gaze. He bows.    
  
“I will expect you within the varga.”   
  
“Thank you.” 

He watches Kolivan leave the hall before turning back to his quarters and slipping inside. 

It’s dim. Early. A room of dark silver aglow in standard Galra lowlights, pink-edged, and humming. But it’s silent and warm.    
  
And so is she.    
  
Sleeping, silent and warm, edged in pink markings and doused in silver; an extra tunic of his own. Her fingers are curled by her face, careful and delicate, moving only in the subtlest of her breaths. In, out. Up, down.  

And for a moment he just stands there and watches. He counts the slow drag of each thump of his heart and extends the moment.  For as long as he can endure the envy of his own imprint anyway, dented around her on the still-made bedding as it is, a reminder and a welcome.    
  
It’s not for long.    
  
His knee hits the edge as he draws closer, taking in the more nuanced arrangements of her appearance; the small gaps in her lashes, the dusting of blue shadows in the roots of her curls, the dimple above her brow. Small secret things he’d been allowed to make familiar in the late vargas of the night before.    
  
From trust maybe. Companionship. Marriage. Whatever word seemed best within whatever context.    
  
It was hard to keep track anymore. 

“Allura.”    
  
He kept his voice low, part of him silently wishing she didn’t hear, didn’t respond, didn’t stir— so that he might take advantage of looking at her like this without fear of transgression. Or interruption.    
  
But time marches forward despite him, this time with footsteps louder than his heartbeat. Horrible thing, really, time. 

“Allura,” He tried again, this time accompanying the word with a soft brush of his knuckles across her temple. His fingers lose themselves in white immediately after, sinking into her hair as easily as clouds spilled in the sky.    
  
She huffs in her sleep, pressing her nose into the sheets.   
  
Defiant. Reliably so.   
  
He’s smiling and before he realizes it, he’s once again aligned with her. Dainty bare feet grazing his shins, fingers entangling, white locks meeting white locks in pools between them.  Dragged into the trap he’d been wary of. 

Her smell is there again. That burning ozone of Altean alchemy and wild fragrance. But sleep too; that heady warm scent of flesh and sheets and something he couldn’t name anything but comfort. 

Laying his head down, he closed his eyes and pictured Altea.    
  
It was harder to do so now. The regular fantasy had long since morphed into the more simple, more accessible memories of her in his home. Of Doranic. Of the round and walking with her through wading pools under sunlight. White dresses, pink cheeks and happy laughter in his library.    
  
It’s dreamlike.    
  
When had his own experiences become dreams?   
  
His eyes slid open again and once more he simply counted. Extended this memory so that he might look back on it with a similar fervor in another few quintents. Another few decophoebs. A hundred or more.

He recalled her soft voice before she’d fallen asleep, recalled her appearance, lazy-lidded but smile wide and fresh, their hands constantly weaving in and out of each other, whispering about inconspicuous things that had never seemed more important. 

“Do you think about it sometimes?”   
  
He’d been lost in the flutter of her lashes.    
  
“Hm?”   
  
Her elbows dragged against his side as she moved, sheets wrinkling under her until she had her head raised to look at him properly.    
  
“Kral Zera. The flame you lit.”   
  
“Do I think of Kral Zera?” His brow went up and he left her curious expression to watch her curls fall from her shoulders. He caught one and rolled it between his fingers. Silk. Soft and thin and beautiful. “You mean Sendak?”   
  
“No, not Sendak!” She was laughing and it made him smile immediately, though he's not sure what was funny. “Though I suppose we should talk of him. With the fight tomorrow there is a good possibility he’ll be there and—”   
  
“Let’s not talk of Sendak.” He decided quickly. “That’s not…”   
  
That’s not what he’d intended of this night. And while he’d had no plan except to keep her close, to keep her company selfishly at his disposal, he definitely didn’t want to waste time, waste  _ her _ time, talking about something as useless as  _ Sendak. _ _   
_   
“What of Kral Zera?” He urged instead.    
  
Allura shrugged. Her curled up knees bumped his hips.    
  
“I mean the fire you lit.”   
  
“Fire?”    
  
“Do you ever think about it out there, still lit, burning?”   
  
“Hm.” He fell to his back beside her, dragging up a leg idly to think. Allura followed, crawling up a little further to his height on her stomach, staring over him. The shoulders of his tunic rode up on her chest, the opening much too large for her delicate neck. 

His eyes fell down to her collarbones, and the soft shadow of her breast.    
  
“Hm.”    
  
Allura frowned. “Well? You don’t think of it? How… strange and encouraging it is to have an… eternal flame burning in your name? When Shiro told me about it, when we got there, I thought it an inspiring tradition.”    
  
His eyes left her exposed skin in a hurry. Lotor felt a burning in his chest that spread quickly up his neck to his ears. He hadn’t been listening. Kral Zera. Flames.    
  
“I had never thought of it in such a way.”

He forced himself now. That burning flame, pink at the edges, blaring out its light past Freyiv through the dark of space. A symbol of his rule. A literal beacon of his achievement. Piercing like a star. It was a chemically produced energy of its own, he knew that. 

He wondered if he could see the light from the edge of its sector.    
  
Turning back to her, Lotor found her face only a breath away, with pink in her eyes brighter than any pathetic ceremony torch. He stared as his whole body turned a pleasant shade of numb.    
  
“It’s comforting.” He says, with a slow sigh in it. “Yes… it is.” 

Allura smiles with some sort of satisfaction, sinking back down to lay her head across from his.    
  
They’d fallen asleep not too long after. Though each final topic or agreement to sleep always seemed to turn into another urgent hurry of bringing up something else. Dayak and Coran’s budding friendship, the differences between Altean and Galra sweets, the engineering details of the teleduv, or their preferences in shoes. One thing after another until they were asleep in the middle of a sentence. They hadn’t even made it under the sheets.    
  
It’d been more than he’d deserved of her attention. 

As had her proximity. The slow draw of her in the morning until he’d woken with her head beneath his chin and her hands hidden in the folds of his collar, her cheeks flush at his chest. 

It had been painful answering Kolivan.    
  
“Allura,” He tries this time with his hand on her cheek, brushing over her markings and arranging himself close as he could manage.    
  
She huffs again, eyes pressing together before blearily blinking.    
  
“Mmm...”   
  
“Hush,”    
  
She pressed her cheek into his hand, burning heat into his palm. He pulled away slightly as his nails grew to meet her skin. No rest for a wicked heat, as it were.    
  
“Allura, Kolivan calls for me.”    
  
“Mhmmmm.” She hums, eyes closed once more. Her hands find his tunic and wrap mercilessly into the fabric.    
  
“Allura, please,” He nearly whines, pulling back even as she scuffles forward, nose to his neck, breast to his chest. That burning spreads down to his hips, and he braces his muscles against an achy contraction that threatens a sweat on his brow. His resolve and the Kalkameth had to run out sometime after that spar. He’s surprised it hadn’t been sooner.    
  
His fingers slowly curl hers off his clothes. He considers calling Kolivan and canceling with each digit he releases.    
  
“Hnnnmm oootor?”    
  
He looks down at the grumble and finds a blurry gaze with pert, open lips.    
  
His fang bites blood from his cheek.    
  
“Allura, I have to leave for a meeting.”   
  
“Ohn…”   
  
Fury, he was an imbecile to go.    
  
But when his eyes can’t leave the wet of her mouth, he realizes he really should. 

Holding her hands hostage, he sits up, over her, and draws close enough to whisper soft by her ear, “I must go, Princess, but rest. You have some time yet.”

“Mmmmmm.”   
  
Her hum thickens the saliva in his mouth, but he pulls away from her anyway. Until the absence of her leaves him cold and then he’s back, crowding over her once more. Moth to flame.   
  
You’re in heat. He scolds himself. Don’t let it make decisions for you. 

Allura sighs beneath him and he sighs back, but not as contentedly. He’d sleep at her side forever if he could. 

He  _ could, _ actually. It wasn’t a question of capability.    
  
“No.” He denies himself. Out loud.    
  
Instead he compromised, caressing the side of her cheek to see her smile into it once more.    
  
He wants to kiss her. 

It’s not a new desire, certainly. And for a tick of weakness, he considers the idea of it now. Kissing her and tasting sleep. Tasting pink.    
_   
_ _ Sink deep.  _   
  
Lotor pulls his other hand to her jaw, cradling her head softly between his palms and dipping low, excitement in his hips and a nervousness in his spine, he shakes, bringing his lips close to kiss her.    
  
He kisses the crown of her forehead. Long and slowly. He breathes in too, taking in as much as he can, and imprinting the memory somewhere he can easily call on it.    
  
“Good luck, Allura.” He whispers.    
  
When he leaves the bed, he watches her curl about the echo of him, hands gripping sheets where his tunic might be. It’s something sacred to see. 

He changes alone, in the adjacent dressing room, a mantra of ‘do not go back to bed,’ repeating under his breath as he adjusts his flight suit and armor.    
  
On his way out he spies the small corner of the things she’d brought with her last night. The cleanly folded stack of her Galra battle suit, sword, and comm.    
  
His taleson chain sits on top of it all, shining like a wink at his direction.    
  
A wink.    
  
He grins, crossing to play his nails in the silver links of the proposal bracelet.    
  
Was it sentimental, he wondered. Or was it just a part of the role. Engaged and then married — the tools of a political agreement. He’d thought so. He still thought so.    
  
But maybe…   
  
That wink. That smile. Insidious and derivative of… consummation. Her face full of play, of tease, by fury,  _ teasing _ — She’d pink flush from sport, flush from him. Happy and wild, white hair tossed in the air with a careless confidence she wielded just as sharply as she did any weapon. 

“There are private rooms for that sort of thing.”

Had she been…

Could she be…?   
  
You’re in heat. He reminds himself. 

Fury. Of course.    


 

* * *

  
  
“You're in a rut.”   
  
Lotor eyes Kolivan across the security terminal, as he pulls Kalkameth from his pocket.   
  
“Not a rut.” He doesn’t try to hide the syrup and the Galra advisor makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “A heat.”  
  
Kolivan continues staring, but Lotor ignores it to drink before meeting him at the screens.   
  
“You will need something to burn the smell.”   
  
“It will pass.”  
  
Kolivan doesn’t look convinced, crossing his arms and looking at his emperor with blank yellow eyes that look more judgmental than sympathetic. 

“You need to deny Djura’s audience with you before Prez Vik.”   
  
His brows go up.    
  
“She requested to meet?”   
  
“Yes, this morning.”   
  
“Cancel.”   
  
“Yes, sir.” 

He waits for him to send the missive, watching patiently even as sweat trickles from his brow down to his neck.    
  
Odd how one adapts to a sensation the more you have it. Especially at frequency.   
  
A heat only a movement after his last one. It’s nearly unheard of, and even if it wasn’t, he isn’t about to clarify the statistic with Kolivan. But the fellow Galra is right. Djura would be able to smell it on him before she even stepped inside the same room. 

“Udnot shavings should cover the scent.”    
  
Lotor looks at Kolivan and feels a gratitude similar to one he’d felt around the man since his proposal. The Blades had been maybe his only point of pride in the last five thousand quintants, but none as much as Kolivan himself.    
  
“I will have Keith bring you some after the challenge before we launch for homeworld one.”

There’s a gruff tone of disapproval. Even Lotor can hear it, underneath the loyalty and discretion, but any Galra that rises above tradition is enough to be commended. For this?   
  
“Thank you.” He says simply. It comes out in a puff, in an exhale as if he’d gone six rounds with Allura, and not just the measly one.    
  
It had been a bad idea to spar with her, if absolutely unregretful. And perhaps even worse to spend a hot night beside her if not  _ inside _ her— _ fury _ —different thoughts, please, mercy—   
  
Stupid. He would be a fool not to acknowledge it wasn’t another simple  _ hand to his thigh  _ that had done the deed. The dirty, sweaty, potent, deed.    
  
“Would you please re-arrange the Princess and I’s traveling detail? And be sure for the rest of the visits our rooms continue to be... separate.” It shouldn’t feel as terrible as it does to say the words. But he needs to protect the integrity of the arrangement. And himself. 

It’s not plausable to die from a stamped out Heat, reminds himself.    
  
“Shall I tell Dayak to do something with seating arrangements at further meals, sir? I imagine the Princess’ proximity must be... ” There something… lilting in the Blade’s tone of voice. And when Lotor looks from the screen to Kolivan, he’s not surprised to find the man grinning with a cocked brow.“...compelling.” 

He glares. “Yes.” He shifts. “Indeed, tell Dayak that sitting for dinner shall have to be changed to have us across—”

A booming drowns him out.   
  
“The next visit is to our Homeworlds, where our Emperor  _ must  _ be seen next to our Empress.” 

His shoulders fall. 

Kolivan is smiling at him. It looks more sinister with the man’s torn visage.    
  
“Dayak.” He addresses.    
  
She crosses the room with a high head. “It’s atrocious, that savage Altean custom.”   
  
Lotor turns back to the security terminal to draw up their transmissions for the day. It’s better not to indulge the woman.    
  
“A movement of isolation during a time of celebration. Of breeding.” She sniffs. “What sense does it make to delay the inevitable?”   
  
Kolivan hums in what sounds like agreement.    
  
“Nothing is inevitable, Dayak.” Lotor reminds. “You should understand that as I do.”    
  
“It all is.” She argues.    
  
He gives up before starting. Perhaps his governess simply expected outcomes he didn’t or wanted for different things. It’s a fascinating thought if a fruitless one; asking her if she always assumed he’d kill his own father or marry an Altean princess would only earn him a smack to the ear. 

He absently plays a claw at his lobe, remembering a similar, if more pleasurable sensation from someone else. 

He flexes against the pull at his hips and sighs. 

“The state  _ should _ be taken care of,” Dayak mumbles beneath her breath.   
  
Kolivan hums again   
  
“A prostvak could curtail—”   
  
“I’m in need of counselors for Sendak’s rebellion of my rule.”    
  
Dayak goes quiet.    
  
“Not counselor’s for defeating my heat. Thank you.” 

“Of course.”   
  
“Sir.” 

As it turns out, Sendak is also in the mind that his marriage is a sham.    
  
The video transmission is mostly hot air from the large Galra’s mouth, boasting about purity through his ironically furry visage and cybernetically enhanced expression, making accusations of assimilations into a weaker species.    
  
Lotor finds himself staring at the more interesting floor instead.    
  
He didn’t suppose he could manage a Galra assimilation into Altean living even if he wanted to. Vigilance alone would break their resolve.    
  
“He makes no moves,” Kolivan concludes, shutting of the missive. “But we received an update his lead flagship changing coordinates.”   
  
When the chat comes up, Lotor thinks it might be a mistake.    
  
“He retreats?”   
  
“Without his fleet.” Kolivan nods. “They stay to see Prez Vik.”   
  
“A trap?” Dayak wonders out loud.    
  
Lotor shakes his head but it’s Kolivan who continues.    
  
“To what?” He points a finger down the coordinate line. “We have no motivation to give chase. And his fleet is weak without his ion cannon.”    
  
“No…” Lotor trails, before smiling. His heat itches him, but the hilarity of the evidence is enough to cool him for a moment. “For someone so concerned with purity to our traditions he seems to be the only one not adhered to them.”    
  
“You think Sendak won’t uphold the outcome if it ends in the Princess’ favor. You think the Princess will win.” It’s not really a question when Kolivan says it.   
  
“As does Sendak.” Lotor gestured to the screen. “He flees as not to kneel when his people do.”    
  
“He has no faith in Djura’s abilities.” Dayak tsks.    
  
“Or perhaps he has too much faith in Allura and the paladins.” Lotor chuckles. “We will have to thank them for scaring the former-general so thoroughly.”   
  
So much for the Fires of Purification. Quenched by even the threat of its honor being put in front of an even match with the Princess.    
  
“I was looking forward to stuffing his face with his lies.” Dayak hissed. Kolivan hummed, even more enthusiastically this time.    
  
“When he wanders the scant remains of unclaimed Galra and Coalition space, he will have no choice but to crawl back to the capitol to request re-entry and you can do it then.” And he would. It would only take a few decaphoebs with how much the Empire had already conquered. Lotor knew exiled space well enough to know that.    
  
And he knew isolation well enough to know it would probably be even sooner.    
  
And he’d be there when he came back, even if it ended up being in another 3, or 4 thousand decaphoebs.    
  
And Allura—

Lotor swallowed. Well. Allura wouldn’t be there, but he would be. 

Best not think about that now. 

“With Sendak gone, the only potential threat we have is Haggar and her generals.”   
  
“Your former generals?” Kolivan says. He only means to clarify, he wasn’t there for their betrayal, but...   
  
‘ _ Hers’ _   implied that.    
  
Lotor frowned, looking away.    
  
He wonders if Zethrid still whines for violence. Wonders if Ezor finds excuses for ground missions where she might get a chance to stretch her legs. Or if Axca feels similarities in the way Haggar speaks to her as he might.    
  
Best not think of that either. They make their own choices, as he’d want them to do.    
  
“Yes.” He says. Quietly. Slowly.    
  
“This is all if the Princess wins,” Kolivan warns. “We should prepare if she does not.”   
  
“She will.”    
  
The words seem loud when he and Dayak say them at the same time.    
  
He gives his governess a surprised expression when she eyes him.    
  
Dayak stands taller as if embarrassed by her own passion.    
  
“I have seen her strength. Her speed...and her strategy.” Dayak closed her eyes. “She is better than any factory born pup who scribbles numbers for a bunch of empty cans.” 

“I have seen the Princess fight as well. And while it is something to behold, it’s not wise to ignore the impossible,” Kolivans warns.   
  
“I disagree.” Lotor chuckles, “It is wiser still to expect as Dayak says. The inevitable.”

 

* * *

  
Inevitable doesn’t mean he isn’t worried. 

“ALLURA! PUNCH HER IN THE FACE!”   
  
“Throw dirt in her eye!”    
  
“TOSS HER OUTTA THE RING!”    
  
“Guys, please!” Shiro has to near shout over the deafening crowds around them to be heard. “The drones—we’re being recorded remember? The universe is watching—”   
  
“SHOVE THAT TRAPSNOUT FUDDLE TWO MOVEMENTS TO TALMANIA!” Coran bellowed, drowning out the paladins and most of the audience around him.    
  
Shiro sighed, shaking his head only to catch sight of Lotor and pause.    
  
“You okay?” He says above the dull roar behind them. “You look sick.”

“It’s warm,” Lotor says quickly.    
  
It’s more than warm. It’s hot. His hair and clothes feel heavy.    
  
But if he’s honest with himself, it’s not just the slick, shiver-fever that is his heat. It’s his nerves. 

The match has only just started. He’s called it. Not from the throne, but from the ground, from the dirt, where he can watch with rapt, worrying, anxious attention. How was it this entire arena, with all its space,  _ outside _ , felt smaller than a cramped emergency escape pod? He tried to remember the cozy security of Allura’s sleepy hands holding his collar. Keeping him close. Stable.    
  
It’s hard to do when he’s watching the same woman circle Djura for the second time, with a visceral alertness he’d never witnessed from her before. White hair tossed in a high tail, bangs sticking to her cheeks, mouth open and panting with her heaving shoulders — she was a vision. 

She was also taking a lot of hits.    
  
“Are you sure?” Shiro’s voice leaks into his view as the paladin leans forward to catch his gaze.    
  
“I’ll be fine,” Lotor answers, trying not to cringe as Djura races back inward. Allura’s knees brace, and the woman slams into the other, pushing her backward.  

“You look tired.” Shiro persists. “Did Allura hit you a little too hard after we left?”    
  
“No, we—” He wants to be annoyed with the paladin, but finds himself grinning at the accusation instead. Allura’s punches are not an unfamiliar memory. Then he frowns when Djura lands another punch to her shoulder. What is going on? “We did not continue training last night.”   
  
“Oh.” Shiro nods. Slowly. “ _ Oh. _ ”

“No,” Lotor replies immediately, eyes falling from the fight to the paladin.    
  
Shiro’s hands shoot up in defense. “Hey, I-I’m not prying.”   
  
“It isn’t—”   
  
“Allura already told me all about you two—” Shiro pauses, a smile breaking across his face. Around them, the crowd simultaneously cracks into jeering.  Lotor’s eyes frantically move from the escalating number of punches Allura is blocking to Shiro. The paladin continues at a volume only they could hear. “ _ You know _ . Together. You don’t have to explain it to me. I get it.”    
  
He says nothing. It warrants no response. He just forces himself to look forward, muscles tight and throat tighter as he watches Allura stumble back two steps, dodging sideways, only to be caught in another barrage of punches and kicks.   
  
“Pivot! Counter!! Swing from the right—left! Allura!!” Pidge is yelling in front of him, moving her arms as if she’s the one out there. 

It’s hard to concentrate. 

Why was she on the defense? Djura was no faster than him. She was taller, heavier, and therefore slower.  And Allura had shown him how agile she could be.    
  
She ducked to the ground, skidding along the dirt and running to the other side. The crowd roared back at the move and Lotor felt his ears burn as his mind continued to be in two places at once. 

_ Allura told me all about you two.  _ _   
_ _   
_ Either the level of miscommunication to the black paladin was egregious, or Allura had implicated, or even suggested, that she and him… that they had—    
  
_ “There are private chambers for that sort of thing.” _ _   
_ _   
_ Teased. Winked. Heated. Her body pressed on his, her hands on him—

_ Fury.  _

This quintent was somehow much too fast and much too slow in its pace. 

“I don’t get it, why’s she running away!?” Lance yelled, arms stretching outward in confusion. “Turn around and show her what you're made of Princess!”   
  
“Something’s wrong.” Keith near murmured. Lotor could barely hear him at his side with the crowd yelling around them. He did hear Kolivan’s wary humming though. And Dayak’s sniff. “She wasn’t like this in training last night.”    
  
“Training, what training?” Lance twisted around at the rest of them.    
  
“If she keeps this up she will run out of stamina and Djura will have the advantage on speed and strength,” Kolivan said.   


“What training!?”

Lotor’s chin lowered.    
  
It was almost more of a race, with Allura dodging and running, getting caught in a flurry, blocking, and repeat.  And she was looking tired. 

Perhaps he had been too selfish. Too concerned with his own greed for her company. He’d kept her up all night, talking nonsense, and now—   
  
“Watch out Allura! Left, left!” Pidge yelled.   
  
“Ohmygosh—” Hunk was leaning over the railing, practically in the arena dirt, eyes wide.   
  
“Guys? Come on, no one told me that everyone was staying up to train!”    
  
“It wasn’t a planned—WATCH YOUR SIX!” Shiro broke out, raising his arm as if to physically pull Djura away from Allura’s back at this distance.    
  
The escape from the grapple was only by a mere tick. Allura went rolling to her knees. Djura set the pace again, both circling each other for the third time. There were practically clouds of dust from their endless runaround.    
  
Lotor’s claws dug into his arm.    
  
“Well, I would have loved to have been there, if anyone bothered to—”   
  
“Goddamnit Lance, you didn’t miss anything! It was just Allura and Lotor flirting anyway!”     
  
Pidge’s shout carried from a cheer to a scold and it made their little sideline entourage as silent as they could manage in a filled coliseum next to a sentry factory.    
  
Lotor felt something heavy in his throat, and straightened, ignoring the entire group’s blatant staring at him from his peripherals. His body was hot and cold, and his mind almost as fretful as the fight he was witnessing.    
  
Lance was still frowning at Pidge.    
  
“Still, you know, I just wanna be supportive.”  

Flirting. 

Allura took another tackle from her right as Djura almost toppled her to the ground, instead just sliding her heels into the dirt when she caught the punches.    
  
Flirting.    


What was he, a kit again? An odd, old, unwelcome memory of getting slammed against a hallway wall came to mind. Bullied about having a face only a Mermallion would flirt with. Which turned out to be true. Most of them did actually enjoy his appearance. Men included. But he wasn’t a hundred and four, on some space shanty with a Calcova girl or Mermallion man, reciting Tandovian poetry, badly and un-sobered.

Nor was he six thousand and forty-five, sober and alone in a medical facility on Peeton, brushing aside a cute Dammetilla’s curious interest, citing his then-admirable-but-inevitably-failed title of ‘celibacy.’

He was over ten thousand. Emperor. He’d stopped caring. He was married. This was his wife. This was Princess Allura of Altea. And he had been flirting with her.

_ She’d flirted back. _

At least, all her paladins thought so. Her friends.

_ Fury _ . Had it not all been his heat then?   
  
Had he been reading his wife wrong all along?

Had she… made insinuations... only for him to invite her to  _ his bed _ , and do nothing but lay with her to talk of Kral Zera and his governess?

If it had been hot before, he was sweltering now.    
  
The idea that she might be—   
  
Losing.    
  
She’s losing. 

Block, block, slide—she was being utterly cornered. Djura was laughing, grinning, he could see it even from here. And the princess, lithe and determined, but still so small, could only hold her for so long, elbows shaking to catch each hit.    
  
Another fast aim for the face, and then low, Djura’s left arm dropped with her knee, coming in for a rib. 

“Whoa—”  
  
“Lotor!”   
  
“Hey!”   
  
Lotor tore past the paladins and the stone sideline.   
  
“Allura!!” He could feel the shout leave his stomach in a rush of wind like he himself had gotten punched. His teeth grit, unable to comprehend the strike he was seeing. 

Especially when it didn’t happen.   
  
He was rewarded in pinks and blues. A quiet gaze. 

Despite her whole body being towered over by the Galra woman, Allura had caught the strike in one hand and turned to look at him.   
  
She smiled. 

Thoughts left.    
  
The entire coliseum seemed silent.    
  
By the fury, she was just—   
  
Her smile twisted back to Djura, the woman’s face a new expression of absolute bafflement and anger.    
  
Beautiful. She was beautiful.   
  
Punch dropped, Djura’s whole body pitched forward with the weight of herself, far enough for Allura to smash an elbow into her exposed shoulder. Djura contorted oddly from the hit, and again when Allura threw a fist to the back of her neck. A simple maneuver and two strikes that completely incapacitated the woman.    
  
In a tick, Djura was on the ground and Allura standing tall above her.    
  
Perhaps they had never actually gone silent, but the crowds around them were absolutely cacophonous now. He couldn’t even hear the others around him, even as they met him on the dirt sidelines, arms waving, swinging, and faces cringed with shouts. 

This time, Allura circled alone, slowly, eyeing the woman on the ground with a calm curiosity.    
  
Djura attempted to get up, but not to Yeepar. Not to cheers.   
  
“Boooooooooo!!” Pidge yelled.    
  
“Yeah, boo! Boo!” Hunk fisted the air.    
  
“Guys, what did I just—” Shiro started, smacking their hands down.    
  
“Show no mercy! Rip her throat out!” Dayak burst.    
  
“Jesus.” 

“You should call it.” Kolivan said to him.    
  
Lotor eyed them all before looking back.    
  
He could see Allura talking, but he couldn't hear her. And Djura, on the ground, eyes pained, nursing her arm, didn't exactly seem to be listening. Standing tall once more, Djura gnashed a mean set of teeth, letting her broken arm hang to one side and bracing her legs wide. 

Another tackle.   
  
Allura seemed to think so too, dropping her knees and snapping her mouth shut.    
  
This time the charge didn’t end in a brace, no grapple or slide. No. He could see now it never had. She’d been—   
  
Allura jumped when Djura finally met her proximity, knee hitting the woman’s chest, hands grabbing the sentry armor on her shoulders like the ground itself.  Allura flipped. 

And she took Djura with her.    
  
Her legs drew a graceful arc in the sky before circling back down to the ground and using that momentum to pick the woman up and toss her. 

Clear across the arena.

“Holy shit!”    
  
“Ohmygoshohmygohsohmygosh!”    
  
“She’s been playing her this whole time!” Keith exclaimed, looking back at Kolivan and Lotor.    
  
They stared at the boy before glancing at each other.   
  
Yes. She had been. 

Allura stood, alone, shoulders broad, staring up at a crowd on their feet, screaming their lungs out.    
  
“C-Call it!” Coran suddenly piped, turning to him with wide eyes. “Call it!”   
  
“Call it!” Someone else echoed. 

"PESTAT!" He shouted.   
  
His heart had been frozen since her eyes had met his across the field, but somehow he still got his boots to move.

The arena lights seemed as loud as the crowd as he made his way to her, to the center of the ring. Somewhere he could hear the whir of drones though. Like the whir of his raspy breath through his teeth.    
  
Even now, getting almost a mere meter away from her, she still looked so small. His wife.    
  
And yet somehow he’d never seen someone so captivating. So intimidating. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.    
  
Maybe that’s why he didn’t see Djura sit up on her knees across from them until he finally heard her speak.   
  
“I’m no toy!” She shouted.    
  
He and Allura cast their gazes to her.    
  
Djura’s face and hair were caked with dirt. There was a cut in her brow that only seemed to add to the jagged look of her appearance. Her claws ripped the armor off her bicep in a clatter to grasp desperately at her broken arm. 

“Finish me! It is Prez Vik!” She said. She spit on the arena in front of them. “Give me my death.”   
  
No.    
  
Heart banging once more, Lotor took a step forward.    
  
“Death is easy!!”    
  
Allura. 

The coliseum went quiet. It had to have. He couldn’t hear anything. Nothing but night air and the echo of her voice.   
  
“Death is easy.” She repeated, this time to the entire gathering of Galra on Nalteth, and the drones that circled them. Others unseen but not unheard, the rest of the Coalition, the Empire. Their Alliance. 

Their marriage.    
  
“No more will death be given out like gifts or rewards!” She told them all, hands fisted at her sides, but hair swishing with each person she glanced at in the stadium. “Peace takes strength. It takes unity. It takes hard work, effort, survival! A reliance on not just making yourself strong but everyone.”    
  
The silence is almost louder than their shouting.    
  
“Death takes no one. Nothing. It is easy—and easy is not the Galra way!” 

He was staring at his people, their faces, when she took his hand.    
  
He snapped back to her, seeing his claws in hers, and that furious fire in her eyes. That burning pink. Like the torch of his trial. His Kral Zera, glimmering from galaxies away. 

“Peace is passion!” She raised their hands to the sky. “Vrepit Sa!” 

The instant eruption of the phrase was not new to Lotor. 

The deafening, roar of thunderous people, screaming their centuries-old blood cry was nothing unfamiliar. Nor was the chill of having hundreds of eyes on him. Or the wracking pain of an ignored heat and anxiety. 

But her.    
  
Allura. 

She was singular.   
  
As was her kiss. 

Turning in the midst of the cheers, the shouting, the screaming, Allura let that pink simmer to a close, eyes lidding and body leaning on tiptoes—she kissed him.    
  
He stared. Burned from the outside in. 

He couldn’t hear anything. Couldn’t see anything. Just her in slow motion, eyes lowering to an impossible calm, nose sliding against his, colors fading into a hot, wet, heat, warmth, oh,  _ stars _ —

_ Allura. _

His claws found her cheeks and he closed his eyes. 

And kissed her back. 

 


End file.
